


You've Got Mail

by afingertwodotsthenme



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - All Media Types, You've Got Mail (1998)
Genre: F/F, Gen, You've Got Mail AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-01 08:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8616772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afingertwodotsthenme/pseuds/afingertwodotsthenme
Summary: Those three little words everyone waits to hear:"Dinner is ready.""I miss you.""I love you.""You've got mail." Laura Hollis and Carmilla Karnstein in a re-telling of Nora Ephron's "You've Got Mail."





	1. just the beat of my own heart

Those three little words everyone waits to hear: 

“Dinner is ready.” 

“I miss you.”

“I love you.” 

“You’ve got mail.” 

In a New York brownstone on a sparkling summer day, Laura Hollis awaited three magic words. A young 25, honey-haired Laura sparkled even more than the day outside. Perhaps it was her natural disposition, perhaps it was the hot cocoa and two donuts she had already consumed this morning. 

Her girlfriend, Danny Lawrence, had already rushed off to work, leaving Laura brushing her teeth. Though the breakfast sugar had some effect on her energy level, Laura seemed uncharacteristically jumpy, tapping her foot until the front door closed. Sneaking a peek out the curtain, she waited by the window until Danny disappeared around the block. 

Forcing herself to walk at a normal human pace, Laura headed into her bedroom. Bookshelves covered every inch of the walls, and every one overflowed with worn, beloved friends. _Madeleine. The Secret Garden. Claudine à l’école. Pride and Prejudice._

Laura sat down at her computer with an expression of anticipation and guilty pleasure as she clicked the mouse. Whirs and dials and modem noises greeted her, beeping to the beating of her heart. 

Finally, the words she’d waited 42 long seconds too long to hear: “You’ve got mail.” With a giddy smile on her face, she resolved to delete all the spam messages; that resolve evaporated when she saw: “BlackAsThePit - Bagheera.”  
___________________________________________________  
To: L2theLetter  
From: BlackAsThePit  
Re: Bagheera

Bagheera is my dog. He loves the streets of New York as much as I do—although he likes to eat bits of pizza and bagel off the sidewalk, and I prefer to buy them. Bagheera is a great catcher and was offered a tryout on the Mets farm team but he chose to stay with me so that he could spend 18 hours a day sleeping on a large green pillow the size of an inner tube. 

Don’t you love New York in the fall? It makes me want to buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly-sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address. On the other hand, this not knowing has its charms.  
___________________________________________________

Somewhere else in the city, a black lab sat on a large green pillow and wagged his tail, cluelessly panting at his owner. Bagheera name derived from _The Jungle Book_ with good reason—he was pitch black, head to toe. His owner, Carmilla Karnstein, had hair just as dark as her dog’s but possessed a few more brain cells. She was gorgeous, 26, and full of charm and irony. Her girlfriend, Ell, sped into the kitchen in a whoosh of coffee, Chanel, and the morning paper. Late to work, she burst out the door as quickly as she came in the kitchen.

With only a smidgen of guilt, Carmilla patiently listened to the elevator door open and close outside. At the ding, she went into her den, sat down at her laptop, and logged on. 

“You’ve got mail,” Carmilla said softly along with the computer. She would never let Ell hear her do that.

And she read:  
___________________________________________________  
To: BlackAsThePit  
From: L2theLetter  
Re: Good morning

I like to start my notes to you as if we're already in the middle of a conversation. I pretend that we're the oldest and dearest friends—as opposed to what we actually are, people who don't know each other's names and met in a Chat Room where we both claimed we'd never been before.

What will she say today, I wonder. I turn on my computer, I wait impatiently as it boots up.

I go on line, and my breath catches in my chest until I hear three little words: You've got mail.

I hear nothing, not even a sound on the streets of New York, just the beat of my own heart. I have mail. From you.  
___________________________________________________

Ready and eager for the day, Laura popped out her front door onto the busy streets of New York. A few blocks behind her, Carmilla walked past West Side morning sights: kids heading to school, dogs being walked, bakery trucks dropping off bread at unopened restaurant.

Stopping at a newstand, Laura said a cheery good morning to the newsstand dealer, and bought a New York Times. Only a few minutes later, Carmilla stopped at the same newsstand. She bought all the papers — the Times, Wall Street Journal, Post, and Daily News.

Further down the street, Laura stopped to buy flowers—daisies, her favorite. A dark-haired woman brushed past her with a soft, “Pardon me,” and crossed to the other side of the street to enter a building under construction. 

Around the corner, Laura unlocked her store and sighed happily at the bell’s ding. Inviting and warm, lights twinkled in the windows of The Shop Around the Corner; stuffed animals read books around the store; Laura couldn’t help but grin, just like she did every day she came in—this was her home.

The bell dinged again and one of Laura’s employees, fiery-haired LaFontaine, walked in.

“Hey, Laf! Isn’t it the most beautiful day?”

Laf looked up at the sky as if seeing it for the first time. “I guess. Sure.”

“Don’t you love New York in the fall?”

Laf looked at her, puzzled, but not too surprised. It was made-of-sunshine-and-hot-cocoa Laura after all. She hadn’t changed much since Laf met her as a freshman. 

Laura hung up her coat in the back of the store and suddenly stopped to daydream, another smile creeping onto her face. Laf looked at her again—this was a little much, even for Laura.

“What's going on with you, Frosh?”

“Nothing! Nothing of course. Why would anything be going on?”

“…You’re in love.”

“What? In love? No. Wait, yes. Of course I am. I’m in love with Danny. I’m practically living with Danny.”

“What’s really going on with you? I’m just going to stand here till you tell me.”

Laura waited and Laf saw the wheels turning in her head. Until she realized that Laf would wait her out.

“Is it cheating if you’re involved with someone on email?” she squeaked. 

“Have you had sex?”

“Of course not. I don’t even know her.”

“I mean cybersex.”

“No, Laf! It’s not like that. We just email.”

“Where did you meet her?

“I can’t even remember.”

Laf waited her out again.

“Fine. The day I turned 25, I wandered into the Quarter Life Crisis room for a joke, sort of. She was there. And we started chatting.”

“About what?”

“Books. Music. How much we both love New York. Harmless stuff. Meaningless.” Laura smiled softly and sighed, “Bouquets of sharpened pencils.”

“Excuse me?”

“Forget it. We don’t talk about anything personal. We made a rule about that. I don’t know her name, what she does, or where she lives. So it’ll be easy to stop seeing her… Because, well, I’m not.”

“Wow, Frosh. Wow. You know, she could be the next person to walk into the store. She could be…”

One of Laura’s salespeople, J.P., walked in at that moment. J.P. was sweet, vague, and in desperate need of help picking a belt that matched his shoes. Laura and Laf shared a look of horror as they considered the thought that J.P. could be Laura’s pen pal. 

Braver than Laura, Laf asked, “J.P., are you online?”

“As far as I’m concerned, the Internet is just another way to be rejected by a woman.”

He didn’t notice the collective sigh of relief. 

Next, Perry walked in. In her late twenties, with the same coppery red hair as Laf, she had the personality and caring tendencies of a spunky and sweet grandmother.

“Good morning, Perry!” they all greeted her.

“What are you all talking about?”

Blunt as ever, Laf said, “Cybersex.” Laura shot them a look.

“I tried to have cybersex once but I kept getting a busy signal,” Perry said absently.

The bell jingled again and customers entered, leaving that conversation for another time. 

___________________________________________________

Carmilla and her sister, Mattie, walked through the buzz and screeches of the construction site. 

“The electrician called. He hit a deer last night, he won’t be in until tomorrow,” Mattie relayed. “The shelves are late because of the pine had beetles. And some idiot started installing the stairs in the wrong place. If I never to see a contractor after this store is done, it will be too soon.”

Carmilla nodded and almost walked into a sparking wire dangling from the ceiling. “Sounds great.”

“Darling, are you even listening?”

“Is the electrician here?”

“I just told you—he hit a deer. Did you hear me?”

“I hear nothing,” Carmilla muttered, “Not a sound on the city streets, just the beat of my heart. Something like that.”

With a grin, Mattie nudged her, “Did you and Ell get engaged?”

That seemed to snap Carmilla out of her musings. “Engaged? Are you crazy?”

“I thought you liked Ell…”

“Of course! I love Ell. She’s amazing. Nobody wears Chanel like her. She makes coffee nervous.” Carmilla avoided Mattie’s look and switched gears. “Are we still on schedule?”

“We open two weeks before Thanksgiving.”

“I guess we have to announce ourselves soon.”

Mattie waved off her sister’s nerves. “This is the Upper West Side. The minute they hear they’ll be lining up—“

“—to picket the big bad chain store that destroys everything they hold dear.”

“But, dear, we’ll seduce the masses with our square footage and plush armchairs and fast checkout lines and discounts and don’t forget—“

“—the coffee,” they finished together.

Carmilla sighed, “Coming soon, a Karnstein Books Superstore and the End of Western Civilization As We Know It.”


	2. the books i read as a child

On a dull day, in a dull skyscraper, Carmilla sat on a garish couch in the Karstein Books headquarters with her mother and grandfather to discuss the new superstore.

“Mattie and I are both concerned about the neighborhood response,” she said, running her hand over a cushion. “What is this god-awful fabric? Does it have a name?”

“Money,” her mother, Lilita, replied. 

“I assume Franz selected it?”

“Of course.”

Carmilla’s grandfather, Baron, joined in, “Your mother is getting married again.”

“Again? Why? I mean, congratulations. But why?”

Lilita scoffed, “Who knows? Why does anyone get married?”

Carmilla hated herself for saying it as soon as she said it: “Love.”

“I think you’re a damn fool,” Baron muttered.

“Dad, William is four. It would be nice for him if his parents were married.”

“Kirsch is eight and I’m not married to his mother. I can’t even remember his mother’s name!” Baron laughed. Carmilla got her irony from him, but tried to be a little more tactful with it.

“I have a very sad announcement to make,” Carmilla began, getting to the reason for the meeting with her deplorable but unavoidable family. “City Books on 23rd Street is going under.” She tried to be more tactful. It didn’t always work. 

Lilita didn’t bother to hide her glee, “Another independent bookstore bites the dust.”

Rolling her eyes, Carmilla continued, “And I’m buying their entire stock–architecture, philosophy, New York history—for the new store.”

Money-minded Baron chimed in, “And how much is this going to cost us?”

“Whatever it costs,” Carmilla pointed to the couch, “it won’t be as much as this exquisite mohair episode. We’ll also have a section on West Side writers in the new store.”

“Perfect,” said Lilita. “It’ll keep those West Side liberal nut pseudo-intellectual bleeding hearts–“

“–readers, Mother. They’re called readers.”

“Don’t romanticize the great unwashed, dear.”

Thankfully, grandfather Baron returned to business, asking about the competition. Carmilla told them about the paperback mysteries store, on 86th and Amsterdam, and the children’s bookstore, The Shop Around the Corner.

“Sherry’s store,” Baron breathed with wonder.

“Who’s that?” Carmilla asked. 

“Sherry Hollis, a lovely woman. I think we might have had a date once. Years ago. Or maybe we just exchanged letters.”

“You wrote her letters?”

“Mail. It was called mail, granddaughter of mine. Sherry had beautiful penmanship. She was much too young for me, but she was… enchanting. Her daughter owns the store now.”

“Too bad for her,” Lilita said with a careless laugh.

___________________________________________________  
To: L2theLetter  
From: BlackAsThePit  
Re: Mawwaige

My mother is getting married again. For five years she's been living with a man who studied decorating at Caesar’s Palace.

___________________________________________________  
To: BlackAsThePit  
From: L2theLetter  
Re: liv’d but three summer days

Once I read a story about a butterfly in the subway, and today I saw one. I couldn’t believe it. It got on at 42nd and got off at 59th, where I assume it was going to Bloomingdale’s to buy a hat that will turn out to be a mistake. As almost all hats are.

___________________________________________________  
To: L2theLetter  
From: BlackAsThePit  
Re: Earth laughs in flowers (flours?)

Did you know that every night a truck pulls up to H&H Bagels and pumps about a ton of flour into the ground? The air is absolutely amazing.

___________________________________________________  
To: BlackAsThePit  
From: L2theLetter  
Re: truth universally acknowledged

I guess I’ve read _Pride & Prejudice _ about 100 times and every time I read it I worry that Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy are not going to get together. But the truth is whenever I think about my favorite book I always think about the books I read as a child.

___________________________________________________  
To: L2theLetter  
From: BlackAsThePit  
Re: no enjoyment like reading

Did you ever read _Homer Price_? My all-time favorite children’s book. There’s a doughnut machine in it that won’t stop making doughnuts, they just keep coming down the chute just as regular as a clock can tick.

___________________________________________________  
To: BlackAsThePit  
From: L2theLetter  
Re: doughnut you know? (I know the pun is terrible, just accept it anyway)

Have you been to Krispy Kreme? There’s a doughnut machine right in the window that makes 110 dozen doughnuts an hour. Just as regular as a clock can tick. 

___________________________________________________

Carmilla walked out of her usual Starbucks with her usual black coffee, held the door for a small dirty-blonde woman, and got back onto her usual route to get to the new Karnstein Books superstore. Routine was monotonous, but at least she had a few days of emails from L2theLetter to think over. At the construction site, the sign painter had been working slowly: “COMING SOON: A KARN” is as far as he’d gotten. Carmilla didn’t care–she was thinking about what the “L” in L2theLetter’s screen name might stand for.

After thanking the back of the head of the woman who held the door for her, Laura ordered her usual Starbucks hot cocoa and listened to the coffee-shop sounds. Hissing steam, orders of doubles and extra foam, and soft acoustic guitar sounds floated around her. But she was lost in her daydreams, trying to replay word-for-word in her head BlackAsThePit’s morning email. Outside, she walked past a construction site where a sign painter worked painfully slowly on an “S.” “COMING SOON: A KARNS”

___________________________________________________

J.P. ran into the Shop Around the Corner’s door with a thud before he remembered that doors must be opened. Laf was the first to notice, after untangling themselves from a large turkey wearing a pilgrim hat. Thanksgiving was only a few weeks away and Laura insisted on decorating for every holiday.

“Jeep, did you forget how to work a door again?” they teased.

“No,” he said in a daze. “I just had a coup de foundre and I’ll never be the same.”

“A what now?” 

“Love at first sight,” Perry piped up from underneath a giant papier-mâché husk of corn. “Tell us about her!”

“She was running and she was beautiful and I couldn’t look away. And then some car hit a light pole and before you know it, the police were there, and a reporter and a camera, and the reporter asked her name to get her as a witness, and she said, ‘Sarah Jane.’” 

Laura appeared then from the back, “Why is J.P. talking in run-on sentences?”

“J.P. had a coup de foudre,” Laf said knowingly.

He regained his composure enough to say, “And Laf’s making fun of me.”

“Don’t let them,” Laura said. “I completely believe in this. It happened to Madame Bovary, at least six times.”

“And she was wrong every time,” said Lafontaine, resident truth-speaker and buzzkill. 

“Oh, and one other thing happened, Laura,” finished J.P.  
___________________________________________________

Out on the street corner, Laura stood with J.P. and Laf, looking at an unnecessarily large sign that read “COMING SOON: A KARNSTEIN BOOKS SUPERSTORE.” 

“Quel nightmare,” said Laf.

Laura took in a sharp breath, then stated, “It has nothing to do with us. It’s big, impersonal, overstocked, and full of ignorant salespeople.”

“But they discount,” J.P. pointed out.

Laura took in another sharp breath, “But they don’t provide any service. We do. This could be a good development! You know how in the flower district there are all these flowers shops in a row, so you can find whatever you want? Well, this is going to be the book district. If they don’t have it, we do.” 

“And vice versa,” said Laf, not realizing that now was not the time for their truth-speaking. 

Laura huffed, turned on her heel, and went back into her store: small, personal, reasonably stocked, and full of knowledgable salespeople who loved books like they ought to be loved.


	3. goodnight, dear void

Laura had been trying not to think about the Karnstein Books superstore, but it seemed to be all that anyone wanted to discuss with her. Even Danny. Though Danny tried to make it better. 

“When you are finished with Karnstein Books, the Shop Around the Corner is going to be responsible for reversing the entire course of the Industrial Revolution.”

She smiled at Danny’s attempt at encouragement, though she wondered if reversing the Industrial Revolution would be a good thing. Danny’s ideas were always interesting, but steam engines were an important development in the history of the world, right? Laura stowed those thoughts away for later, maybe for an email. “That is so sweet, Danny. Thank you.”

“Hey,” Danny started and held out her arms. The two shared a nice hug, Laura engulfed in her tall girlfriend’s embrace. Until she noticed something new on the desk.

“What is that typewriter doing there?”

“Laura, listen to it,” Danny said turned from the hug to strike a key excitedly. “Just listen to it. The Olympia Report deluxe Electric Report. Sounds as clean and quick as a gunshot.”

“It does sound like that,” Laura nodded.

“And listen to this,” Danny continued, bending to put her ear to the machine. Laura did the same and heard some unremarkable whirring. Danny was enraptured by it, like it was a hypnotizing her. 

“Hey, I know where I’ve heard this before,” Laura started, then whipped a cover off the other typewriter on the desk. It was identical to Danny’s new baby.

Danny looked guilty. “I needed a backup.”

“Don’t you have another one at your apartment?”

“I might. So what?”

“You’re turning my apartment into a typewriter museum.”

“I’ll stop. Well, I’ll try. I probably can’t. I see one and my knees go weak. Anyway, what were we talking about before?”

Laura groaned. “I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking about my work and all. I mean, what is it I do exactly? All I really do is run a bookstore—“

“—all you really do is this incredibly noble thing.”

“But I don’t know if I can—“

“Laura, stop.”

“But I just—“

“You are a lone reed.”

A puzzled look settled on Laura’s face. Unperturbed and sticking a piece of paper in her new typewriter, Danny continued, “You are a lone reed waving in the breeze standing strong and tall in the corrupt sands of commerce.”

With a flourish, she whipped the paper from the typewriter and handed it to Laura. 

“I am a lone reed,” Laura repeated slowly. “I am a lone reed.” She wandered from the room, clutching her new trophy. “I am a lone reed.”

___________________________________________________  
To: BlackAsThePit  
From: L2theLetter  
Re: twelve little girls in two straight lines

Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life. Well, not small, but circumscribed. And sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven’t been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn’t it be the other way around? I don’t really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So goodnight, dear void.

___________________________________________________

 

Laf and Laura stood at the cafe counter, waiting for their drinks. It had been a slow morning at the bookstore, so they decided to enjoy an afternoon walk and hot cocoa run while Perry and J.P. minded the store. 

The inside of Laura’s mind felt like a hurricane. Why had she sent that email last night, with words from the deep dark of her heart? Why didn’t she talk about those things with Danny? Why did this cafe have communal tables? Wasn’t the point of a cafe to come and sit by yourself to people-watch, not sit shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers at a table more suited for large family meals? 

Thankfully, Laf interrupted her inner turmoil. “I went to the Karnstein Books website and you can buy anything. They ship it to you in a day. Maybe we should get a website.”

Now Laura was less thankful. “My mother would never have wanted us to have a website. ‘Every book you sell is a gift from your heart.’ She always said that.”

“What if they put us out of business?”

“That’s ridiculous. We’re a fixture in the neighborhood. We’re practically a landmark!” Laura insisted.

They settled at the communal table, and Laura curiously looked at some binders laying there. She read: Men for Women, Women for Men, Women for Women…

Laf nodded at the binders, saying, “You fill out one of these forms and they file it in the book and if someone wants to meet you, they arrange it.”

“What a weird way to meet someone.”

“Compared to the Internet?” teased Laf.

Laura’s brow furrowed. “My little thing on the Internet is just a lark.”

Laf almost choked on their cocoa. “It’s still going on?”

Laura ignored that and continued, “And I do not plan to meet her. Hey, have you filled one of these out?”

The tables had turned. Laf hid their reddened cheeks behind their mug. “It was just a lark,” she retorted. “How else am I supposed to meet someone?”

“They could hold the door open for you at Starbucks, or buy the paper at the same newsstand as you, or you could bump into each other on the street and drop the flowers you were carrying and it turns out she likes the same flowers…”

Laf snorted at Laura’s wistful face. “Sure, Frosh. But who are they, the stranger on the street, really? They could like the symphony. I could never fall in love with someone who likes to go to the symphony.”

Laura’s wistful face turned sour, and she agreed, “I know. What are you even supposed to do there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sit. You’re supposed to sit.”

Laf continued their list, “I could never fall in love with anyone who smokes.”

“Here’s the worst,” joined Laura, “The worst—I could never, under any circumstances, love anybody who had a sailboat. If I had to get up on a Saturday morning knowing that I was about to go down to the pier and unravel all those ropes and put on all that sunblock–“

“—all that talk about the wind.”

“Yes! And then you have to go out on the boat, and you sail and sail and sail until you are bored witless, and then, only then, do they say, let’s turn around and you realize the trip is only half over, only it’s not, because the wind has changed—“

“—it hasn’t changed. It’s died.”

“So then there’s more talk about the wind. While you just float up and down and up and down trying not to get nauseous. And when you finally get back, you have to clean up the boat.”

“Why don’t people have boat maids?” Laf asked.

“I know. There are all these people who wouldn’t be caught dead polishing a doorknob in their house, but put them on a boat and they want to rub down everything in sight.”

___________________________________________________

On a breezy Saturday morning, Carmilla sat by the railing of her sailboat and polished the brass, whistling a sailor’s ditty. She couldn’t wait to go out on the boat tomorrow, but had other plans for today.

A little voice broke into her reverie: “Carmilla!”

She jumped off the boat, landing with ease on the dock to greet her grandfather’s son, Kirsch. At eight years old, he was rambunctious as hell but a delight to Carmilla. Trailing behind were her mother’s fiancé, Franz, his four year old son, William, and the nanny.

Carmilla picked up Kirsch in fireman’s carry (she wouldn’t be able to do that for much longer, as he was getting big), poked his side and asked, “Kirsch, how are you today?”

“Great,” he said, giggling.

She set him down to pick up Will next. “Hey, big guy!” The moment of fun with her small uncle and brother was rudely interrupted by Franz.

“Don’t I get a hello? A kiss for your soon-to-be-stepfather?”

Carmilla bit her tongue and gave him a peck on the cheek. She would scour her lips later. 

“Hey Carmilla,” Kirsch tugged on her hand, thankfully diverting Franz’s attention. “Nanny taught Will how to spell his name.”

“Is that right big guy?” Carmilla knelt down to Will’s eye level. “Well, lay it on me.”

William took in a deep breath very seriously and began, “KARNSTEIN. K-A-R-N-S-T-E-I-N.”

“Excellent, Will!” She smiled at him, then turned to the nanny to commend her efforts. “Nanny, you can have the day off. I’ll take over from here. And Franz, you must be late for something. Volunteer work at the Henry Street settlement. Packing bandages for Bosnian refugees. A course in Chinese literature at Columbia.”

“I am,” Franz replied, “I’m donating sperm.”

Carmilla would have to scour her ears too. 

___________________________________________________

With a sublimely happy little boy in each hand, Carmilla wandered through the end of the street fair. They had visited the hot dog stand, the cotton candy stand, and the caramel corn stand. Then there was the face-painting booth. Kirsch insisted on being a ferocious tiger (though he looked more like a housecat) and Will chose a pirate. Next came the ring-toss, shooting gallery, and other game booths. Carmilla’s wallet lost a lot of weight after those booths, but in his free hand Kirsch triumphantly carried a goldfish in a baggie. 

Continuing past the end of the street fair, they turned the corner and walked past a store window filled with twinkle lights and a sign that read: Storybook Lady today 3:30. Even though he was only four, William, being the already-in-training-for-future-duties son of Lilita Karnstein, carefully checked watch. Then because he was only four, he tugged on Carmilla’s hand and refused to move until she agreed to take them inside.

Kirsch and Will quickly find their way to a group of children, sitting in a circle around a young woman. She was pretty, with expressive brown eyes and hair like the pale yellow falling leaves outside. Carmilla let her eyes linger for a moment, then began to browse as the young woman continued from the Roald Dahl book.

A little while later, Carmilla returned from speed-reading _Madeline_ (“twelve little girls in two straight lines”) to find Kirsch looking at _The Chronicles of Narnia_ with the woman who had been reading aloud. 

Her pleasant voice drifted over the chatter of children around the store. “You might be a little young for this yet, but you’ll love these stories about a big lion named Aslan. There are adventures and surprises and little boys who learn important lessons. You’ll meet Peter, Edmund, their sisters Lucy and Susan, and of course there’s Eustace–and I am sorry to tell you, his real name is Eustace.” 

Carmilla started to browse again, and was surprised to find a first edition of _Swiss Family Robinson_ on a bookstand. A red-haired salesperson popped up beside her to remark, “The illustrations are hand-tipped.” 

Carmilla nodded and opened the cover to find the price which was–wow. “Is that why it costs so much?” she asked bluntly.

The salesperson frowned and replied, “It’s why it’s worth so much.”

Carmilla grimaced but hoped it came off as a smile. She turned to find Kirsch again, dragging his fingers along the spines of a boxed set of the _Narnia_ books, and overheard his conversation with the reading woman.

“I want all of them,” he declared.

“That might be an awful lot for your mom to buy at one time.”

“My mom gets me all the books I want.”

The woman’s gaze turned to meet Carmilla’s. A spark jumped in her brown eyes. “Well, that’s very nice of her.”

Kirsch giggled, “That’s not my mom. That’s my niece.”

“What? I don’t really think that’s your niece.”

Carmilla took that as her cue to approach and let the adults do the talking. Also, she was wanted to know if this woman’s eyes were all one shade of brown or if there were variations in the color.

“It’s true. Kirsch is my uncle. Aren’t you, Uncle Kirsch?”

Kirsch nodded solemnly, then began to further explain, “And Will is–“

“–let me guess,” the caramel and chocolate-eyed woman interjected, “Will is her uncle too?”

“No,” said Will very seriously.

“Her grandfather?”

Will started giggling then. 

“Great-grandfather?”

Kirsch guffawed and Will managed, between his giggles, to get out, “I’m her brother.”

Carmilla tousled their hair and said warmly, “Kirsch is my grandfather’s son. And William is my mother’s son. We are an American family.”

She smiled at the woman, who smiled back. Another spark. Then Kirsch sneezed. Quick as lightning, the young woman took a handkerchief from her sleeve. It was an old-fashioned, embroidered hankie. She offered it to Kirsch, who blithely wiped his nose with her hand instead. Carmilla died a little inside. Kirsch looked at the handkerchief, confused, and asked what it was.

“It’s a handkerchief,” the young woman said, calmly wiping her be-snotted hand with it. “Oh my, do children not even know what handkerchiefs are? A handkerchief is a Kleenex you don’t throw away. My mother embroidered it for me, you see? My initials and a daisy, because daises are my favorite flower.” 

Carmilla failed to hide the wonder in her voice as she asked, “Who are you?”

“Laura Hollis. I own this store. And you are?”

Carmilla looked at her a little too long before responding, “Carmilla. Just call me Carmilla.” 

Then she quickly began to gather up the boys and their books, saying, “We’ll take all of these.”

Laura didn’t seem to notice Carmilla’s nerves as she bent to gather the books and ring them up. “These are wonderful books. As Kirsch gets older the characters in the books do, too. In fact, Aslan even tells Lucy that. ‘Every year you grow, you will find me bigger.’ Isn’t that something? Hey Laf, can you restock some shelves?”

The red-haired salesperson from before came back and looked at Carmilla, “You’re going to come back again, aren’t you?”

“Of, of course,” she replied.

“See, Laura? This is why we’re never going under. Our customers are loyal.”

Laura met Carmilla’s perplexed look and explained, “They’re opening a Karnstein Books around the corner.”

At eight year olds are wont to do, Kirsch piped up, “Karnstein Books! My Daddy–“

Carmilla clamped her hand over his mouth and finished, “—likes to buy at discount. Don’t tell anyone that, Kirsch. It’s nothing to be proud of.”

The sound of spelling came from down below. “K-A-R-N-S-T-E-I-N.” Everyone looked down at William, stunned.

“That’s amazing,” encouraged Laura. “You can spell Karnstein. Can you spell dog?”

“K-A-R-N-S-T-E-I-N.”

“Will, look at this dinosaur book,” Carmilla butted in shamelessly, “Wouldn’t you like a dinosaur book? Kirsch, maybe you could read this to Will while I wrap things up here.”

Before either boy could respond, she had picked them up, plopped down in a corner, and whispered, “Sit down, read, and don’t listen to anything I say.”

Running a hand through her hair, Carmilla returned to the counter where Laura was just finishing wrapping the books. She hands Laura some cash, then some more, saying, “And the dinosaur book, too.”

Laura nodded, opened the till, then paused to look Carmilla in the eyes. “The world is not driven by discounts, believe me,” she started. “I’ve been in business forever. I started helping my mother here after school when I was six years old. I used to watch her, and it wasn’t that she was selling books, it was that she was helping people become whoever they were going to turn out to be. When you read a book as a child it becomes part of your identity in a way that no other reading in your life does.” She stopped herself, blushing, “I guess I’ve gotten carried away.”

“You have,” Carmilla said hesitantly. “And you've made me feel…” She stopped, unable to finish the sentence. Her eyes drifted off Laura’s bright face to the shelf behind her, where a framed picture sat—of a woman who was unmistakably Laura’s mother, with a young Laura.

“…Enchanting,” she finally said. “Your mother was enchanting.”

“She was,” said Laura, looking at Carmilla with a dreamy gaze. “How did you know that?”

“Lucky guess.”

The moment passed. “Anyway. She left the store to me, and I’m going to leave it to my daughter.”

Carmilla managed to ask, stiltedly, how old Laura’s daughter was.

“Oh, I’m not married. But eventually.” She smiled at Carmilla. “So, Karnstein Books can—”

She and Laf finished together, “—go to hell!”

Laura smiled pleasantly again and handed Carmilla the books. The dark-haired woman called out to the boys, “We ready?”

Kirsch and Will popped up to join them at the counter, and were delighted to each receive a lollipop from Laura. Carmilla groaned inwardly, mentally calculating how much sugar she had fed the boys today. With paint beginning to melt off their faces, sticky hands holding books and a bagged goldfish, the little boys remembered their manners and said in charming unison, “Bye, Laura!”

“Goodbye, Kirsch. Bye, Will. What about cat? Can you spell cat?”

“K-A-R-N-S-T-E-I-N.”


	4. the worst version of yourself

On their way to a publication party for some author Danny knew, Laura tried to listen as Danny rambled on about seeing one of her favorite authors (who was apparently not hiding in Mexico as everyone thought) on the subway. And how she’d maybe stalked him a little bit.

“—and then we’d become friends, and I’d introduce him to you—you know how much he loves children’s books—and then maybe he’d come out of hiding so he could help save the store.” The tall ginger finished her speech and looked at Laura, pleased with herself.

“What are you talking about?”

“From Karnstein Books. I mean, if things got tough, he could help rally support—you know, small bookstores are what gave him his break, until he got that big release with Random House, but whatever.”

Laura tried to hide her nerves with an insistent, “It’s never going to get to that! The store is fine.”

Danny clearly felt like she’d said something wrong. “Are we fine?”

“Yes,” Laura said. “Of course we’re fine.”

“And the store, the store is more than fine. You’re absolutely fine.”

“Everything,” said Laura through gritted teeth, “is fine.”

They made it to the apartment complex where the party was being held, and rode silently up in the elevator. Once the doors opened, Danny turned on the charm, ready to mingle with the finest publishers in New York and who knows, maybe make some good connections. Laura followed quietly behind. 

Danny lit up when she saw the author who was the center of the party. “Hey, Vince! Congratulations. You know Laura Hollis.”

Vince stuck out his hand for Laura to shake. It was like a limp fish. Mercifully, he and Danny wandered off when she started discussing who she’d seen on the subway today.

Laura searched for a drink and a piece of bruschetta that was no more than a crumb to give her hands something to do. Across the room, a dark-haired woman looked stricken at seeing her and quickly detached herself from her girlfriend to make a beeline for the bar. Head down, she snuck a look at Laura, then turned to the barkeeper and whispered urgently, “Absolut on the rocks.”

She waited with her head down, hoping her long hair hid her face well enough. It didn’t.

“A white wine, please,” she heard a friendly voice on her right. “Oh, hello. Carmilla, wasn’t it?”

“Hi,” Carmilla said dumbly.

“Remember me, from the bookstore?”

“Of course I remember you.”

“How’s your uncle?”

“Good. He’s good.” The bartender finally handed her the Absolut. She barely stopped herself from chugging it down immediately. “I have to deliver this. I have a very thirsty date. She’s part camel.”

Laura’s laugh was delightful. “Good to see you, Carmilla.”

“And you, Laura.”

Before Laura has even a moment to think over that awkward but pleasant encounter, Vince and Danny returned.

“I can’t believe you were talking to Carmilla Karnstein,” said fish-hand.

“Carmilla… Karnstein? As in—“ Laura looked in horror across the room. Something flashed in her eyes. A decision had been made.

“Uh oh,” said Danny.

Chugging her wine, bringing herself up to her full (tiny) height, Laura put on her game face and marched over to Carmilla. Just a quick series of insistent taps on the taller woman’s shoulder, and the two were face to face.

“Karnstein? Your last name is Karnstein?”

Carmilla gulps. “K-A-R-N-S-T-E-I-N.”

“Wow, I didn’t realize. I didn’t know who you—“

“—were with. ‘I didn’t know who you were with.’”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s from the Godfather.” Carmilla tended to quote the Godfather when she was nervous. If there was any tick she could turn off, that would be it. “When the movie producer realizes that Tom Hagen is the emissary of Vito Corleone—“

Laura just stared at her.

“—just before the horse’s head ends up in his bed, never mind.”

“You were spying on me, weren’t you? You probably rented those children.”

“Why would I spy on you?”

“I am your competiton. Which you know perfectly well or you would not have put up a sign saying ‘Just around the corner.’”

“The entrance to our store is around the corner. There is no other way to say it. It’s not the name of our store, it’s where it is. You don’t own ‘around the corner.’” Carmilla had to turn down her exasperation at the end of her explanation, before they made more of a scene than they were making.

“Next thing you’ll be using twinkle lights!” Laura hadn’t turned anything down.

“Twinkle lights?”

“Little white Christmas lights that twinkle. I use them in my window and on all my displays, as if you didn’t notice.”

“Look, the reason I came into your store is that I was spending the day with Kirsch and Will. I like to buy them a present when I see them because I’m one of those people who likes to buy her way into the hearts of children who are her relatives. There was only one place to buy children’s book in the neighborhood—although that will not always be the case, and it was yours, and it is a charming little bookstore. You probably sell $250,000 worth of books a year—“

“How did you know that?” Laura looked horrified.

“I’m in the book business.”

“ _I’m_ in the book business.”

“Oh, I see, and we’re Price Club. Only instead of a ten-gallon can of olive oil for $3.99 that won’t even fit into your kitchen cabinet, we’re selling cheap books.” Carmilla scoffed. “Me a spy. Absolutely. And I managed to get my hands on a secret printout of the sales figures of a bookstore so inconsequential and yet full of its own virtue that I was instantly compelled to rush over and check it out for fear it would drive me out of business.”

Laura stared at her. She was speechless.

“What?” asked Carmilla.

Laura shook her head. At that moment, a tall ginger arrived and introduced herself as Danny Lawrence.

“So you’re Carmilla Karnstein? Inventor of the book superstore, enemy of the mid-list novel, destroyer of City Books—tell me something: how do you sleep at night?”

Not one to miss a party, Carmilla’s date, chose that moment to join. She felt compelled to share, “I use a wonderful over-the-counter drug, Ultrasom. Don’t take the whole thing, just half, and you will wake up without even the tiniest hangover. You’re Danny Lawrence, aren’t you?”

“Yes?”

“Your last piece in the Independent, the one about Anthony Powell, was brilliant. I’m Ell Eden, Eden Books. Carmilla, this woman is the greatest living expert on Julius and Ethel Rosenberg.”

“And this is Laura Hollis,” Carmilla said dully to her date.

Laura glared at her.

Oblivious, Danny brought the conversation back to herself. “You liked my piece? I’m flattered. You know you write these things and you think someone’s going to mention them and then the whole week goes by and the phone doesn’t ring, and you think, ‘Oh, man, I’m a fraud, a failure.’”

“You know what’s always fascinated me about Julius and Ethel Rosenberg is how old they looked when they were really just our age.” And just like that, Ell’s observation killed the conversation. She smiled anyway, and said to Danny, “I’m so happy to have finally met you. We will talk. Have you ever thought about doing a book?”

Danny looked so stunned that Laura had to poke her to answer, “Oh sure, it’s passed through my head. Something really relevant for today like the Luddite movement in 19th century England.”

Carmilla and Laura made eye contact one more time, before furiously turning their heads away, back to their dates. No more sparks.

___________________________________________________

Later, Danny and Laura settled into bed. Laura immediately turned out the light, burrowed her head into her pillow, and tried to tune out Danny’s observations about Ell. 

“I really like Ell Eden. She’s a very nice person. She needs educating, that’s all. She’s hopelessly driven by money and power, but there’s hope for anyone who’s that familiar with my work.”

___________________________________________________

Bagheera was already on Carmilla’s bed, wagging his tail and smiling his big dumb dog smile. Carmilla turned down the sheets and squeezed in around her dog, content to keep some distance between herself and Ell on the other side of the bed, even if it meant she had to contort herself like a pretzel around Bagheera. It was worth it.

“I had no idea that Danny Lawrence was so down-to-earth,” Ell said, ignorant of Carmilla’s plight. “You read her stuff, you think she’s going to be so obscure and abstruse. She’s always talking about Heidigger and Foucault and I have no idea what any of it’s about, really.”

At that, Carmilla muffled her sigh and pried herself out of bed. Bagheera followed his master.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m not really tired,” Carmilla lied.

___________________________________________________  
To: L2theLetter  
From: BlackAsThePit  
Re: the hatred of a minute

Do you ever feel you become the worst version of yourself? That a Pandora’s Box of all the secret hateful parts—your arrogance, your spite, your condescension—has sprung open. Someone provokes you, and instead of just smiling and moving on, you zing them. Hello, it’s Ms. Nasty. I’m sure you have no idea what I’m talking about.

___________________________________________________  
To: BlackAsThePit  
From: L2theLetter  
Re: l’esprit de l’escalier

I know what you mean and I’m completely jealous. What happens to me when I’m provoked it that I get tongue-tied. My mind goes blank. Then I spend all night tossing and turning trying to think of what I should have said.

___________________________________________________  
To: L2theLetter  
From: BlackAsThePit  
Re: cannot rule my fanatic heart

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could pass all my zingers to you and then I would never behave badly and you could behave badly all the time and we’d both be happy? On the other hand, I must warn you that when you finally have the pleasure of saying the thing you mean to say at the moment you mean to say it, remorse inevitably follows. Do you think we should meet?

___________________________________________________

Laura stared at the email, frozen. For not the first time recently, she had no idea what to do.


	5. day-to-dayness

On a windy Monday morning, shop owners pulled up the iron gates to their stores–a pharmacy, a bakery, an optician, a video store. The gates clinked skyward, and one or two made awful grating noises as they caught on a stubborn slide. Around a corner, on Broadway, a new gate slowly and silently raised itself towards the heavens. There was a sign in the window next to the shining new door. It read: OPENING DAY. 35% OFF ALL BEST-SELLERS. Karnstein Books was open.

From the upmost level, Carmilla surveyed her new domain: the staircase gleamed like it had invented the idea of gleaming, a row of cash registers stood at attention, and gray-shirted employees bustled about. But what got to Carmilla were the books—books, books, as far as the eye could see. She had to wipe a tear away.

Throughout the day, the store filled in with bright-faced customers. They seemed like ants from Carmilla’s view from the top. Tiny, Koolaid-drinking, book-buying ants. Her mother and grandfather would be pleased.

“No pickets, no demonstrations,” she remarked to her sister.

“The neighborhood loves us,” Mattie agreed.

The brand new elevator dinged and out walked Lilita and Baron. In a rare display of affection, Lilita held out her arms to her daughters and gave them a collective pat.

“Darlings, it’s wondrous. They’re wondering where we’ve been all these years. They’re wondering how they ever did without it.” For all her remarks about the great unwashed, Lilita appreciated her customers in her own special way.

“It’s a hit,” nodded Baron.

Carmilla started them on a tour, through the New York authors section, drama and poetry, philosophy (her personal favorite), business, and more. Lilita asked about the children’s book department, and Carmilla knew she was thinking about the only other bookstore left in the neighborhood.

“It’s early yet, Mother. School isn’t out. And there’s that children’s bookstore nearby.”

“Sherry’s store,” Baron said, with that same dreamy quality as the first time he’d mentioned it.

“Her daughter’s,” Carmilla corrected.

“We will crush it,” Lilita said simply.

Baron let a shaky hand rest on his granddaughter’s shoulder and whispered, “She was enchanting.”

___________________________________________________

The following morning, Carmilla flattened herself against a storefront as a group of little children dressed as Pilgrims invaded her morning route. The delay was significant. Once she finally unentangled herself from the wee folks, she was relieved to get to her usual newsstand. She took a few extra minutes to recover there, reading the Arts section first, like she always did. She didn’t see Laura Hollis cross the street, spot Carmilla, and turn immediately back across the street, just barely avoiding a taxi that screeched to a halt for the honey-haired jaywalker and the long string of profanities that followed.

___________________________________________________  
To: BlackAsThePit  
From: L2theLetter  
Re: less than two but more than one as yet

I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to meet. I love our relationship. There’s a lot going on in the day-to-dayness of my life and there’s something magical and thrilling about this island in cyberspace I have with you. SO PLEASE DON’T ASK ME AGAIN.

___________________________________________________

The next morning, Laura walked into her Starbucks, eager to get to her bookstore and keep fighting the good fight against the evil Karnstein Books. After her morning pep talk (in the mirror, to herself, after Danny had left), she was almost back to her usual perkiness. Nothing could bring her down. She was focused. So focused on her mission to get hot cocoa and stand as a lone reed in the corrupt sands of commerce that she didn’t notice Carmilla at the sugar counter, putting a lid onto her black coffee. But Carmilla noticed Laura. As stealthily as she could, she crunched the lid onto her coffee and spun to get out the door. She should have crunched the lid on more thoroughly, she realized when a large man ran right into her, spilling the hot coffee all down her coat. Before he could stutter out an apology, Carmilla fled the scene and ran onto the Laura-less streets of New York. 

___________________________________________________

At closing Wednesday night, Laura and J.P. counted receipts while Perry ran the calculator. Laf shelved books and hummed a Christmas song. It was quiet but festive, a perfect Thanksgiving eve.

“About $1200 less than the same week last year,” Perry said, breaking the peaceful quiet.

Laura looked at her, “That could be a fluke, right?”

Perry shrugged and smiled sadly, “Or not.”

“Their store is new. It’s a novelty. But it will shake out. Do you think I should put up more twinkle lights?”

Laf shook their head vehemently, but Perry said brightly, “That’s a lovely idea.”

They all heard to door bell ding and said in unison, “We’re closed.” But whoever had come in the front door was unperturbed. 

“J.P. Armitage?” the voice, a woman’s voice, called out.

J.P. turned to see who had come through the door, and the words died in his throat as he saw who it was. Sarah Jane, the woman from the street, the woman of his dreams. 

The door opened, and Sarah Jane, the woman J.P. had swooned over at the minor car accident, walked in. She nodded at him, flashed a badge and introduced herself as Sarah Jane Carter, detective, 23rd precinct. And she had a few questions for him. In a daze, he followed her out the door. And because they were nosy, Laura, Laf, and Perry watched out the window in fascination as the two talked. Then J.P. took Sarah Jane’s hand and suddenly they were all over each other. Fascination turned to shock turned to disgust as their co-worker made out with the detective.

“What is that all about?” Laf asked with a frown.

“Maybe she had a coup de foudre, too,” Perry explained.

They all shrugged. The door bell dinged again and before they could say, “We’re closed,” a long-time customer and well-known author, Mel Callis, threw herself at the counter and asked in despair, “Laura, are you surviving?

“Mel! We’re so excited about your new book. When should we schedule your signing?”

“Oh, it’s being published in January. Are you going to be in business in January? I’m so worried. It’s not looking good for you.”

Laura grimaced at Mel’s characteristic bluntness, but replied, “We’re doing great, aren’t we?”

“Great,” Laf lied.

“No difference whatsoever,” Perry lied.

“Thank God,” said Mel. “Well, you know can count on me. For anything, support, rallies, picket lines. We can get the Times to write something. Or that nut in the Independent.”

“What nut in the Independent?” asked Laura. 

“Danny Lawrence. This is just the sort of thing that would outrage her.”

Laura smiled brightly. 

___________________________________________________

After wishing her friends a Happy Thanksgiving, Laura headed to the store. It was mobbed, expectedly so for the night before the holiday. Using her lack of height to her advantage, Laura snuck under a tall man’s arm to grab the last wheel of Brie. The view from down there lead her eyes to the door, where she saw, of all people, Carmilla Karnstein walk in. Quickly she popped back up from under the man’s arm, to his great confusion, and turned down the cracker aisle. She looked every which way, watching for her dark-haired nemesis. The coast clear, she finished her shopping and headed for the shortest checkout line.

The cashier totaled Laura’s purchases and she automatically handed over her credit card.

“This is a Cash Only line.”

“What?”

“Cash Only,” repeated the cashier, like she was an idiot. 

“Oh my gosh, I only have a credit card. Is that okay?”

The man behind her spoke up, “Of course it’s not okay, there’s a sign.”

“There’s a sign,” the cashier agreed.

The man behind Laura spoke to the woman behind him, “She doesn’t have cash.” The news traveled quickly down the line, to Laura’s mortification.

The little scene drew the attention of other customers, including a dark-haired woman with a coffee-stained coat and tired scowl. When she saw Laura floundering for cash, any cash at all, she made the split-second decision (against her better judgement) to step in.

“Hello, do you need some money?” she said softly to Laura, who spun around in shock.

“No,” she laughed nervously. “I don’t need any money. Thank you very much.” Another nervous laugh.

“Get on another line,” the cashier interrupted.

Carmilla turned to the cashier, eyed her quickly, and smiled. “Hi,” she said, glancing down to her nametag. “Rose. Great name. Rose, this is Laura, I’m Carmilla, and this is a credit card machine,” she nodded to the machine sitting there, unused. “Happy Thanksgiving, Rose.”

Rose just stared at her.

“Now it’s your turn to say Happy Thanksgiving back,” Carmilla continued, turning on all the charm.

“Happy Thanksgiving back.”

Carmilla looked at her with a smile and a wink. She liked Rose. 

“Mississippi is a hard word to spell. How do you spell it? I-T.” Carmilla smiled again and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Now, take this credit card and put it through the machine, zip zip.”

Rose looked completely charmed. With a blush, she took Laura’s credit card. Everyone in line groaned in unison. Laura looked appalled.

“So you’re fine,” Carmilla said to Laura.

“Fine,” Laura squeaked.

She smiled one last time at the tiny bookstore owner and wished her a Happy Thanksgiving. And she blamed her gesture of kindness on her lack of coffee for the day and the holiday season. No other reason at all.


	6. you worry about being brave

It was Thanksgiving Day. The Macy’s Day Parade had made its way through the city and New Yorkers were beginning their feasts. On the Upper East side, in an apartment that looked like it had come right out of a magazine, Carmilla sat with her family and her girlfriend to listen to Will and Kirsch sing.

“The sun’ll come up tomorrow, bet your bottom,” Will giggled until Kirsch nudged him, “dollar that tomorrow, there’ll be sun!”

Mattie, Lilita, and Baron sat in the front row of straight-backed chairs, listening with rapt attention to the future generation of Karnstein Books. On the love seat in the back, Carmilla couldn’t help but smile at her uncle and brother—though the song was insipid, they were cute. She elbowed Ell to remember to clap when they finished—she had been busily looking at her nails. 

Carmilla quietly excused herself to get a drink, and was unpleasantly surprised to find Franz and the nanny in the kitchen in a compromising position. They straightened their clothes, avoided eye contact with Carmilla, and returned silently to the living room. Carmilla felt a pang of pity for her mother and brother, but resigned herself to not saying anything. It was best to avoid family drama, especially on a holiday. 

Kirsch poked his head into the kitchen, wanting to know when she’d be back to hear another song. “It’s a good one, Carmilla, and I bet my bottom dollar you’re gonna love it!”

She smiled, “Of course I will, kiddo. I love everything you do.”

___________________________________________________

Across town, a much more informal Thanksgiving dinner was taking place. Plates lay scattered across every available surface in Laura’s apartment, and the whole gang gathered around an upright piano. J.P. and his new girlfriend held hands and made eyes at each other, Laf peered over Perry’s shoulder to read the lyrics to a Christmas song, and Danny had her arms around Laura’s waist in a loving and engulfing embrace. 

To Laura, it was messy and warm and just right. It was just right even when Danny started singing right into her ear, terribly off-key. It was just right even though Perry had told her about a sign she’d seen in the window of Karnstein Books that morning: “Book Signing January 10 - Best Selling Children’s Author Mel Callis.” Laura was disgusted at how fast the Karnsteins worked—she had seen Mel just yesterday. And to do that on a holiday? But it set Laura thinking—were things at the Shop Around the Corner worse than she’d thought?

___________________________________________________  
To: BlackAsThePit  
From: L2theLetter  
Re: wish I had a river I could skate away on

This is such an odd Christmas. I find myself missing my mother, who’s been dead for three years. New York at Christmas is so loaded with all the things we used to do. Going to the Nutcracker in my favorite velvet dress. Ice skating at Rockefeller center, where I was knocked into by a 6-year-old maniac (I was skating around, minding my own business, and this other small human skated right into me and said I skated like a baby). That was my first experience as a speechless person. But then my mom skated over, took my hand, and everything was okay.

I always miss my mother at Christmas, but somehow it’s worse this year since I need some advice from her.

___________________________________________________  
To: L2theLetter  
From: BlackAsThePit  
Re: happy golden days of yore

My mother took me ice skating too, although my mother did not skate. The nanny skated, on an Olympic level. Mother read Vogue instead of watching. And I was in the Nutcracker. So was my nanny, who pirouetted like a perfect ballerina in a music box. Different nanny. 

By the way, I’m surprised you aren’t a writer. Although you probably are a writer and don’t know it. Are you a writer and I don’t know it?

My father died when I was ten. I was staying with my mother, who is not famous for intimacy, and whose way of breaking the news of his death was to tell me he would not be coming to pick me up as usual. It was a car accident, and I don’t know where he was going or who he was with, and I assume what I owe him is my tendency to cover almost any emotion with a joke. A useless gift, unless you want to know what you’re feeling. He was very kind. People toss that word around a lot, but my father was.

Ancient history. So what kind of advice do you need? Can I help?

___________________________________________________

Laura sat in bed with BlackAsThePit’s latest email on the screen. Hearing about her father hit Laura in a different way than any of the other messages had, and she had to wipe away a tear. She settled her fingers on the keys to begin a response when a new noise assaulted her ears and a small box flashed on the screen.

INSTANT MESSAGE FROM BLACKASTHEPIT

BlackAsThePit: I had a gut feeling you would be on line now.

Laura sat in shock.

BlackAsThePit: I can give you advice. I’m great at advice.

Shaking herself out of it, Laura finally typed a response.

L2theLetter: I don’t think you can help.

BlackAsThePit: Is it about love?

L2theLetter: My business is in trouble. My mother would have something wise to say.

BlackAsThePit: I’m a brilliant businesswoman. It’s what I do best. What’s your business?

L2theLetter: No specifics, remember?

BlackAsThePit: Minus specifics, it’s hard to help. Except to say, go to the mattresses.

L2theLetter: What?

BlackAsThePit: It’s from The Godfather. It means you have to go to war.

L2theLetter: What is it with people and The Godfather?

BlackAsThePit: The Godfather is the I Ching. The Godfather is the sum of all wisdom. The Godfather is the answer to any question. What should I pack for my summer vacation? "Leave the gun, take the cannoli.” What day of the week is it? "Maunday, Tuesday, Thursday, Wednesday.” And the answer to your question is "Go to the mattresses."

BlackAsThePit: You're at war. "It's not personal, it’s business. It's not personal it’s business." Recite that to yourself every time you feel you're losing your nerve. I know you worry about being brave, this is your chance. Fight. Fight to the death.

___________________________________________________

Carmilla sat cross-legged on her bed, waiting for L2theLetter’s response. She didn’t know what had come over her to send an Instant Message. She was making all kinds of weird decisions recently. Avoiding Laura Hollis, not avoiding Laura Hollis and saving her from supermarket hell, and now this. Ell came into the bedroom and Carmilla quickly shut her laptop and pushed it to the foot of the bed.

“Look what I bought,” Ell said, holding up a plexiglass Menorah. “I was just passing this store on Columbus Avenue and it caught my eye.”

“What is it?”

“A Menorah.”

“It doesn’t look like a Menorah.”

“I know. I don’t know what came over me. I don’t even celebrate Hanukkah.”

___________________________________________________

Back in Laura’s bedroom, she shut her laptop after BlackAsThePit abruptly disappeared. “Go to the mattresses,” she repeated to herself. Decision made. 

“Danny?” she called out and continued when she heard a grunt from the table with two typewriters. 

“Danny, I’ve decided to go to the mattresses. Do you think it would be a gigantic conflict of interest if you wrote something about us?”

“Yes, I do. But I’ll do it.”

___________________________________________________

Christmas passed and suddenly it was January. It seemed like an ordinary Tuesday, but the Shop Around the Corner was more crowded than it had been in months. Danny stood by the counter with a stack of copies of the Independent. The phone rang off the hook as Laf and J.P. took turns fielding calls. And Perry read aloud to the small audience gathered around Danny: 

"Laura Hollis and her mother Sherry Hollis have raised your children. If this precious resource is killed by the cold cash cow of Karnstein Books, it will not only be the end of Western civilization as we know it, but the end of something even dearer: our neighborhood as we know it. Save the Shop Around the Corner and you will save your own soul." 

Perry finished and gave Danny an encouraging pat on the hand, “It’s charming.”

“You think it’s a little over the top?” Danny worried aloud.

“Channel 2’s outside, let’s get Laura,” Laf interjected, saving Perry from answering. 

At the back of the store, Laura primped in a tiny wall mirror. She looked down at the photo of her mother next to Danny’s article and took a deep breath. A trio of gingers appeared behind her and sent her out the front door with a firm push before she could begin to rethink everything.

“Are you ready, Miss Hollis?” asked the Channel 2 reporter.

“Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes,” Laura said under her breath.

“What?”

“Never mind,” she said, and blinked at the obscenely bright light that flashed in her eyes. “I’m ready. Shoot.”

___________________________________________________

Carmilla and her older sister Mattie did not exercise. They walked on treadmills twice a week, but did not exercise. They ran the treadmills on the lowest setting and walked in place, side by side. Their time at the gym was time for people-watching, people-judging, and catching up on each others’ lives. And sometimes they paid attention to what was on TV.

“We’re here in front of the Shop Around the Corner,” the TV reporter said. “The famous West Side children's bookstore now on the verge of having to close its doors because the big bad wolf, Karnstein Books, has opened only a few hundred feet away, wooing customers with its sharp discounts and designer coffee.”

Of all the people in all the world, Carmilla was shocked to see the camera cut to Laura Hollis, who was saying, “They have to have discounts and lattes, because most of the people who work there have never read a book.”

“She’s not as nice as she seems on television,” Carmilla grumbled.

“You’ve met her?” asked Mattie.

“She’s kind of a pill.”

“She’s probably not as attractive as she seems on television either.”

“No, she’s beautiful.” Mattie raised her eyebrows at Carmilla’s admission. “But a pill.”

“So you don't feel bad about basically destroying her livelihood not to mention her legacy not to mention her raison d’etre.”

“It’s not personal–“ Carmilla began.

“—it’s business,” Mattie finished.

They looked up at the screen to see Carmilla say, “I sell cheap books. Sue me.” And the show immediately cut back to the newscaster.

Mattie scoffed, “That’s what you said?”

Carmilla was outraged. “That's not all I said! I said—I can’t believe those bastards—I said we were great, I said people can come and sit and read for hours and no one bothers them, I said we stock 150,000 titles, I showed them the New York City section. I said we were a goddamn piazza where people could mingle and mix and be.”

“A piazza?”

“I was eloquent. Shit. It’s just inevitable, isn’t it? People are going to want to turn her into Joan of Arc–“

“—and you into Attila the Hun.”

“Well it’s not me personally, it’s more like the company. Oh shit, I hope Mother and Grandfather don’t see this.”

Back on the screen, Laura appeared a final time. “And I have to say,” she said with a fire in her eyes, “I have met Carmilla Karnstein, who owns Karnstein Books, and I have heard her compare her store to a Price Club and the books in it to cans of olive oil.”

Carmilla gracelessly fell off her treadmill.


	7. meet me

It was a war zone on the street between the Shop Around the Corner and Karnstein Books. A crowd gathered, undisturbed by the wind and cold. Laura stood on a platform along with the Borough President and spoke to the crowd, “My mother used to say to me that every book you sell is a gift from the heart.” 

The small rally cheered and Laura beamed. The crowd picked up their picket signs and resumed their march in front of Karnstein Books, chanting, “One, two, three, four, we don’t want this superstore.”

In spite of the noise and fuss, customers still found their way through the picket line and into the warmth of Karnstein Books. The cafe was full of people sipping on hot drinks, including the Karnstein family. Lilita refused to acknowledge the small protest outside, and Baron just smiled whenever he overhead a customer mention the Shop Around the Corner. Carmilla held her head in her hands and wondered what to do about the problem that was Laura Hollis.  
___________________________________________________

That night, Danny and Laura sat in front of the TV to follow the program that Danny had interviewed with. After the PBS logo appeared, an attractive young woman introduced herself as Betty-Ann Spielsdorf, hostess for “Inside Media.”

Betty-Ann began, in a perfect announcer’s voice: “The New York Literary world was shocked this week when protests manifested outside a small children's bookstore on the West Side of Manhattan. Discussing this tonight is a woman I happen to think of as one of this city's most under-appreciated assets, Danny Lawrence.”

Laura giggled and squeezed Danny’s hand when the tall ginger appeared onscreen.

“Thank you,” TV Danny blushed.

“This all happened because of you, didn’t it?” asked Betty-Ann.

“Well, I knew Karnstein Books was met by many with open arms, but there was another side to the story. So I wrote a provocative piece.”

“Your specialty,” said Betty-Ann with a laugh. TV Danny and real Danny laughed too. Laura felt uncomfortable. 

A little while later into the program, Laura struggled to focus as TV Danny explained: “Technologically speaking, the world’s out of hand. Take the VCR. The whole idea of a VCR is that it makes it possible for you to tape what's on television while you're out of the house. But the whole point of being out of the house is so you can miss what's on television.” 

Danny didn’t notice she mouthing along with her own words. 

“Radio,” TV Danny finished. “Now there’s a medium I can get behind.”

Betty-Ann laughed for the millionth time. “Well, we’re on television, and you’re good at it.”

TV Danny and real Danny blushed, to Laura’s horror.

Thankfully, Betty-Ann remembered to do her job again. “The bookstore,” she said. “Tell us about it.”

“The Shop Around the Corner is a true New York treasure,” TV Danny said with a charming smile.

Betty-Ann smiled right back and Laura swore that she winked when she said, “As are you. I’d love to have you back.”

“Any time. Are we done?”

“Not at all.” Betty-Ann’s voice made Laura uncomfortable again. 

Real Danny was suddenly intent on finding the remote to turn the television off, but Laura was not distracted enough to miss TV Danny say, “Good. Because I just want to say that the only show I do watch is yours.”

Click. 

___________________________________________________  


Perry sat with Laura as they totaled the week’s receipts. Everyone had been feeling optimistic about all the publicity–Laura was even grateful for Danny’s flirtatious interview. Until Perry looked at her.

“Don’t tell me,” Laura groaned. “Not even the slightest difference? How could that be? All this publicity and not one bit of difference? Oh Perry, what am I going to do? What would Mom have done?”

“Well, dear, let’s ask her.” Perry turned to the framed photo of Laura’s mother behind the counter. “Sherry, what should we do?” She took a moment to listen. Another moment.

“Perry?” Laura asked, almost beside herself.

Perry shushed her and waited another moment. “She has no idea, but she thinks the window display is lovely.”

___________________________________________________  
To: BlackAsThePit  
From: L2theLetter  
Re: Advice

I need help. Do you still want to meet me?

___________________________________________________  
To: L2theLetter  
From: BlackAsThePit  
Re: Advice

Where? When?

___________________________________________________

“We’re meeting in a public place,” Laura told Laf and J.P.

“Well don't go anywhere with her,” Laf advised. “Don’t even go out to the street with her afterwards. Get a dial cab to just sit there and wait for you.”

“Did you tell Danny?” asked J.P.

Laura paused. “There’s nothing to tell.”

Laf gave her a nudge. “But did you tell her?”

“She’s away. At the 32nd anniversary of the Chicago Seven trial.”

“Do you even know this girl’s name?” asked J.P. Laura was starting to hate her friends. She shook her head.

“And you’re to meet her in a bar?” Laf continued.

“Not a bar. That place on 83rd with the cheesecake.”

“And she will wear a flower in her hair, and you will be carrying a copy of _Anna Karenina_ with a rose in it,” said J.P.

Laura didn’t respond.

“No,” J.P. and Laf said at the same time.

“Not _Anna Karenina. Pride and Prejudice._ ”

___________________________________________________

The Karnstein sisters walked out of their glorious superstore and started downtown. Carmilla had finally admitted that she was going to meet the woman she’d been emailing. Mattie was having a ball.

“I suppose she’ll be carrying a copy of a book with a flower in it.”

Carmilla didn’t respond.

“Not really,” Mattie said.

Carmilla grimaced. “Really.”

“Which Jane Austen is it?”

“ _Pride and Prejudice_.”

“She could be a real dog.”

“I know. Look, I’ll just stay ten minute. I’ll say hello. Drink a cup of coffee and split. Walk me there, okay?”

They walk the rest of the way to 83rd in silence, though Carmilla knew Mattie was laughing hysterically on the inside. Good thing she loved her sister, or she’d like to kill her. Finally Carmilla broke the silence.

“What if she has a really high, squeaky voice? I hate that. It reminds me of those mice in Cinderella.”

“What mice in Cinderella?” 

“Gus-gus and oh shit, I can't remember the other one. I only know this because of Kirsch and Will, I swear. Gosh, why am I compelled to meet her? I'm just ruining a good thing.”

“You're taking it to the next level. I always do that. I always take a relationship to the next level, and if it works okay I take it to the next level after that, until I can finally get to the level where it becomes absolutely necessary for me to leave.”

“I’m not going to stay long anyway. I already said that, didn’t I. Ugh. I’m a total wreck.”

They had reached the cafe. Carmilla stopped and looked at Mattie a bit desperately.

“Mattie, this woman is the most adorable creature I have ever come in contact with. If she turns out to be even as half as good-looking as a mailbox, I will be crazy not to turn my life upside down and marry her.”

“She could be a real dog.”

“You go look.”

“Me?”

“I’m playing the little sister needing her big sister’s help card. Just go to the window and check her out.”

“You’re pathetic.”

With the air of a martyr, Mattie went to the window and peered inside.

“See her?” Carmilla whispered.

“There’s a beautiful, a very beautiful girl.”

Carmilla couldn’t help it. She squeaked. “Yes?”

“But no book. Let me see. Wait a minute. There’s a book with a flower, so it must be her.”

“What does she look like?” Carmilla was grasping the stairway railing very tightly, to keep herself from shaking. 

“Darling, there’s a waiter blocking, I can’t see her face. He’s serving her a cup of tea and she’s putting in three spoonfuls of sugar.”

“Well, why shouldn’t she?”

“No reason. Unless she has hypoglycemia. Oh, he’s moving.”

“Can you see her?” Carmilla was shaking the railing now. 

“Yes.”

“And?”

Mattie huffed in frustration, “She’s very pretty.”

“She is? I knew she would be. She had to be.” Carmilla shook the railing harder, then stopped, appalled at herself.

“She looks… I would say she a little of the coloring of that Laura Hollis person.”

“Laura Hollis of that pesky children's bookstore?”

“Why not? You said you thought she was attractive.”

“So what? Who cares about Laura Hollis?” Carmilla was getting annoyed at her sister’s game.

“Well, if you don’t like Laura Hollis, I can tell you right now you won’t like this girl.”

“Why not?

“Because it is Laura Hollis.”


	8. to know you were there

”Oh, shit.” Carmilla’s extensive vocabulary, honed from years of reading everything she could lay her hands on, did nothing to serve her now. 

Mattie waited a long moment, watching her sister brood. “Carmilla, dear, what are you going to do?”

The dark-haired woman sighed in defeat. “Nothing.”

“You’re going to let her just wait there?”

“Yes. Yes I am. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Why not?”

“But she wrote the emails.”

“Goodnight, Mattie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

___________________________________________________

 

Inside the chic café, Laura sat alone at a table for two. She was on her second cup of excessively sweetened tea (it was the only way she could stand the stuff) and was about to ready to switch over to hot chocolate. Tea had seemed more sophisticated, and she wasn’t ready to admit her hot chocolate addiction to a stranger. Well, not a stranger exactly.

Checking her watch, tapping her foot, and rearranging the rose in her book did little to pass the excruciating time. She almost jumped on a man who innocently grabbed the empty chair from her table to add his own, with a large, loud group of friends. Laura snatched the chair back and insisted that she was waiting for someone. The man backed away slowly.

Laura checked her watch again and the second hand seemed to slow down, just to taunt her. She twitched a little when the front door opened and a pretty woman came through the door–only to join the boisterous group beside her, knocking _Pride and Prejudice_ off the table as she passed. Laura rescued her beloved tome from the floor and carefully rearranged the flower. It was starting to wilt.

As Laura despaired, thinking that things could not possibly get any worse, someone else walked through the door and slowly up to her table.

“Laura Hollis,” said Carmilla Karnstein. “What a coincidence. Mind if I sit down?”

In shock, Laura shot across the table to hold the other chair in place before Carmilla could pull it out. “Yes, I do. I’m expecting someone.”

The move across the table had left her book undefended. Carmilla picked it up. “ _Pride and Prejudice_ , huh?”

Laura desperately grabbed it back. “Do you mind?!”

“I didn't know you were a Jane Austen fan. Not that it's a surprise. I bet you read it every year. I bet you just love Mr. Darcy, and that your sentimental heart beats wildly at the thought that he and whatever her name is are really, honestly and truly going to end up together.” Carmilla’s words came out meaner than she intended, but she felt them float out of her mouth like little balloons unleashed from a child’s hand and headed for death by plane or bird. She couldn’t take them back; she couldn’t save herself or Laura from the pain they would surely cause.

“Would you please leave?” Laura asked in distress.

Carmilla sat down. 

“Please?”

“I’ll get up as soon as your friend comes. Is she late?”

“The heroine of _Pride and Prejudice_ is Elizabeth Bennet and she’s one of the greatest, most complex characters ever written, not that you would know.”

“As a matter of fact I’ve read it. In my teenage ignorance and angst I thought it was about another kind of pride, so I was disappointed to discover yet another traditional straight love story.”

Laura scoffed, refusing to admit that she’d thought the same thing in her teen angst, but had come to love the classic anyway.

“I think you’d discover a lot of things if you really knew me,” Carmilla continued.

“If I really knew you,” Laura spat, “I know what I would find—instead of a brain, a cash register, instead of a heart, a bottom line.”

Both women looked shocked at her words. “What is it?” Carmilla asked.

“I just had a breakthrough, and I have to thank you, of all people, for it. For the first time in my life, when confronted with a horrible, insensitive person I actually knew what I wanted to say and I said it.”

The dark-haired woman smiled ruefully, “I think you have a gift for it. It was a splendid mixture of poetry and meanness.”

“Meanness? Let me tell you something–“

“—Don’t misunderstand me, I’m just paying you a compliment.” 

While Laura tried to think of a reply, Carmilla lifted the book off the table again and pulled out the rose. “What have we here? A red, no, crimson rose, tucked into the page. Something you read in a book, no doubt. One of those books with a lady in a nightgown on the cover about to throw herself off a cliff.”

Laura wanted to throw herself off a cliff. She held out her hand and pleaded for the rose. Instead of giving it back like a nice person, Carmilla put it between her mouth and nose like a mustache. 

Something in Laura snapped. “It’s a joke to you, isn’t it? Everything’s a joke to you, you raging b- bad person! Now please, leave. I beg you.”

Carmilla muttered something about asking nicely, put the wilted rose back on the table, and stood up. Then sat down at the very next table, right behind Laura. Their backs to each other, each woman brooded silently.

The door of the café opened again and Carmilla could feel Laura’s hopeful look. A sweet looking elderly couple had come in, holding hands. Carmilla felt Laura droop. 

The honey-haired girl took out her compact to check her lipstick. She didn’t mean to let the mirror drift over to sneak a glance back at Carmilla, who chose that moment to turn sideways and catch Laura’s eye. Laura twitched and dropped the mirror back into her purse. She tried to play it cool and took out her handkerchief next, to blot at her lipstick.

“You know what the handkerchief reminds me of?” Carmilla said over her shoulder. “The first day I met you.”

“The first day you lied to me,” Laura corrected.

“I didn’t lie to you.

“You did too.”

“I did not.”

“You know, I thought all that Karnstein stuff was so charming. K-A-R-N-S-T-E-I-N.”

“I never lied about it.”

“‘Carmilla. Just call me Carmilla,’” Laura quoted. “As if you were one of those stupid 17-year-old girls with no last name. ‘Hi, I’m Kimberly.’ ‘Hi, I’m Janice.’ What’s wrong with them? Don’t they know you’re supposed to have last names? It’s like they’re a whole generation of cocktail waitresses.”

She stopped herself before she could really get into the rant. She had plenty more to say, but the words caught in her throat when Carmilla seated herself back at Laura’s table.

“I am not a stupid 17-year-old girl.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Carmilla sighed. “And when I said the thing about the Price Club and cans of olive oil, that wasn’t what I meant either.”

“Oh, you poor sad multimillionaire. I feel so sorry for you.” 

The café door opened again and a teenaged girl walked in, looking like she had just come off a long shift. She wore a tag on her lapel that said, “Hi, I’m Kimberly.”

Laura didn’t say a word. Carmilla broke the silence. “I am going to take a wild guess that she isn’t HER, either. Who is she, I wonder. Not, I gather, the world’s greatest living expert on Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, but someone else entirely. Will you be mean to her, too? Will you start out sweet as sugar candy and then suddenly, miraculously, like a bolt of lightning, find that sharp little tongue of yours?”

“No, I won’t!” Laura barked back. “Because the woman who’s coming here tonight is completely unlike you. The woman who is coming here is kind and funny—she has the most wonderful sense of humor.”

“But she’s not here.”

“If she’s not here, she has a reason, because there is not a cruel or careless bone in her body. I can’t expect you to know anything about a person like that. You’re nothing but what your family made you—a bully with no heart.”

Carmilla sat there for a moment, not breaking eye contact with Laura. Something flashed in her dark eyes—not anger, but a glimmer of sadness, like lost hope. Laura opened her mouth to speak again, to say something, anything kind, but Carmilla spoke first.

“That is my cue. Goodnight, Laura.”

___________________________________________________

 

It started to rain on Laura’s walk home that night. She felt like she deserved that for how she’d treated Carmilla. Coming up to her brownstone, she dropped the dead rose in a trash can, and glumly fished for her keys. Inside, she didn’t turn on any lights but headed straight for the computer. The normally agonizing wait felt like nothing after sitting in that café for so long. She checked her email. Nothing. 

She took her handkerchief and wiped her gathering tears away. Then she slipped out of her shoes, crawled onto her bed, fully clothed, and lay there in the darkness.

___________________________________________________

 

Carmilla shook the raindrops off her coat as she hung it up in the closet. The coffee-stain from that day she’d avoided Laura at Starbucks was long gone (her dry-cleaners were magicians) but for some reason, she wished it was still there. She overheard Ell in the next room, ranting on the phone about an author’s crazy demands for an advance. 

The computer on Carmilla’s desk glared at her accusingly; it felt like a punch to the gut. She didn’t know how to breathe anymore.

___________________________________________________

 

The next morning, Carmilla and Mattie walked silently through their superstore. Her big sister tried to be comforting, but it didn’t help. They agreed not to talk about it and got back to work.

___________________________________________________

 

Laura came around the corner to her shop to find Laf waiting there, leaning against the door.

“So what happened?”

Laura looked at them and gulped back a sob. “She never came.”

Together they entered the shop and got to work opening up. Laf was outraged that BlackAsThePit had stood Laura up, while Laura was trying to think of nice excuses. J.P. came in and heard the news.

“What could have happened?” Laura wondered aloud. “Why didn’t she come? Maybe she showed up, took one look at me, and left.”

“Not possible,” insisted Laf, while J.P. stayed awkwardly silent, looking at the morning paper intently.

“Maybe there was subway accident,” Laura said.

“Absolutely, Frosh.”

“A train was trapped underground with her inside.”

“And no phone,” nodded Laf. J.P. was starting to shake his head now, but remained silent.

“Or she was in a car accident. Those cab drivers are maniacs. One time, one almost hit me when I crossed back across the street after I saw Car—somebody.”

Laf didn’t notice her slip, and continued the car accident theory. “Her elbows could be in splits, so she couldn’t really dial. Or she could be in the hospital in one of those private rooms with no phone.”

J.P. finally made a noise, and handed them the paper. The top headline read: COPS NAB ROOFTOP KILLER.

“Jeep, what are you saying?” Laura asked slowly.

“It could be,” he whispered.

The group was silent.

“She was arrested two blocks from the café. Look at the picture,” he pointed to the picture of a woman with a jacket pulled over her head.

Laura couldn’t make words, so Laf and J.P. did. “So that explains it. She was in jail—“

“—and there was a phone—“

“—but she only got one call and she had to use it to call her lawyer.”

“You are so lucky, Frosh.”

“You could be dead.”

Laura finally snapped out of it and looked at her employees. “Are you crazy? This woman couldn’t possibly be the rooftop killer.”

Inconvenient-truth-speaker Laf reminded Laura of that time they thought Danny might be the Unabomber; Laura insisted that was different.

“How long did you sit there all alone?” Laf asked.

“Not that long. Carmilla Karnstein came in and—“

“Carmilla Karnstein!” J.P. and Laf exclaimed together.

Laura screwed her eyes shut and said, “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Let’s get to work.”

They all looked around the shop. There was no one it and nothing to do. 

“There must be something to do,” the small owner said, mostly to herself. “There’s always something to do.” 

The front door bell jingled–the sound of hope, of deliverance, of–Perry walking in. Before Laura could even greet her, Laf spoke, “She stood her up.”

___________________________________________________  
To: BlackAsThePit  
From: L2theLetter  
Re: sticks and stones

I have been thinking about you. Last night I went to meet you and you weren’t there. I wish I knew why. I felt so foolish.

And as I waited, someone else showed up, a woman who has made my professional life a misery, and an amazing thing happened—I was able, for the first time in my life, to say the exact thing I wanted to say, the way I wanted to say it. And of course, afterwards, I felt terrible. Just as you said I would.

I was cruel, and I'm never cruel. And even though I can hardly believe what I said mattered to this woman—to her, I’m just a bug to be crushed—but what if it did? No matter what she's done to me, there's no excuse for my behavior. Anyway, you are my dear friend, and I so wanted to talk to you. I hope you have a good reason for not being there last night, but if you don't, and if we never really connect again, I just want to tell you how much it has meant to me to know you were there.

___________________________________________________

 

If all the poets were right and words could hurt or break or kill, Carmilla would always count those last five words as the ones that did her in.


	9. being amazingly brave

___________________________________________________  
To: L2theLetter  
From: BlackAsThePit  
Re: where I was 

I am in Vancouver.

___________________________________________________

Carmilla paced in front of her computer. What could she write to Laura that would fix everything? Could she lie, was that okay? Wasn’t the truth worse than the lie at this point? She rethought the Canada excuse–to lie about visiting the most polite country in the world seemed like a cosmic invitation for trouble. What if she could never taste maple syrup again? She erased the message.

___________________________________________________  
To: L2theLetter  
From: BlackAsThePit  
Re: where I was 

I was stuck in a meeting, which I couldn’t get out of. The electricity went out in the building and we were trapped on the 18th floor and the telephone system blew too. Amazingly enough.

___________________________________________________

Carmilla gently banged her head on the table to the tune of you-are-a-terr-i-ble-per-son-Car-mill-a-Karn-stein. For a moment she considered going cold turkey, never touching a computer again. But then the guilt washed over her again as she pictured Laura’s warm brown eyes and hair like spun gold. She banged her head on the table: fuck-it-fuck-it-fuck-it. She erased the message again.

___________________________________________________  
To: L2theLetter  
From: BlackAsThePit  
Re: where I was 

Dear friend: I cannot tell you what happened to me last night, but I beg you from the bottom of my heart to forgive me for what happened. I feel terrible that you found yourself in a situation that caused you additional pain. But I’m absolutely sure that whatever you said last night was provoked, even deserved. And everyone says things they regret when they’re worried or stressed.

You were expecting to see someone you trusted and met the enemy instead. The fault is mine.

Someday I’ll explain everything. Meanwhile, I’m still here. Please, talk to me.

___________________________________________________

“Did she say anything about meeting again?” Laf asked Laura around the cookie stuffed into their mouth. They were at Perry’s apartment for tea and cookies—and nobody baked like Perry. Laura was having trouble controlling herself too—she had a lot of feelings she wanted to eat.

“Not really,” she replied. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll just be like George Bernard Shaw and Mrs. Patrick Campbell and write letters our whole lives. Where was this taken, Perry?” She pointed to a picture of Perry dressed like a flamenco dancer.

“Seville. That was the time of my coup de foudre,” the red-head shrugged. “What did you decide, Laura?”

Laura steeled herself and told her dearest friends that it was time to close the Shop Around the Corner. “It feels like such a failure. It feels like I’m quitting. It feels like… Mom…” She closed her eyes, unable to continue.

Perry and Laf each took one of her hands and held it tightly. Gently, Perry said, “Keeping the store open doesn’t keep your mother alive, although sometimes I think we all think it does.” 

Sensing the need for some comic relief, Laf returned to the subject of Perry’s coup de foudre. “So who was it, Per, that made you fall in love? It must have been so romantic, huh?”

Perry sighed dramatically, “But it wasn’t meant to be.”

“Why not?” asked Laura, coming out of her brooding.

“He ran Spain.”

“Spain?” Laf and Laura said together.

“The country. He ran it. That was his job. And then he died. Just as well.”

___________________________________________________

“She fell in love with Generalissimo Theo Straka?” Danny asked in amazement as she and Laura headed to the movie theater.

“Don’t say that. We don’t know that for sure.”

Laura could tell Danny was doing mental math and the ginger pondered aloud, “Who else could it have been? It couldn’t have been too long ago. And it happened in Spain. Wow, people do really stupid things in foreign countries.”

“Absolutely,” Laura agreed. “They buy leather jackets, they go see flamenco, they ride in gondolas, they eat in restaurants where guitarists sing ‘Malaguena sola Rosa,’ but they don’t fall in love with fascist dictators. Come on, we’re going to miss the movie.” 

They bought tickets and popcorn and entered the theater. Danny loved to sit in the exact middle of a row, and it was easy for her to step over already seated movie-goers with her long legs. Laura had a bit more trouble, awkwardly bumping and hopping and shuffling and pardon-me-ing along behind her girlfriend. They finally sat and Laura returned to their conversation.

“Perry is very a kind person, she’s practically my surrogate mother. I mean, she isn’t much older than me, but you know what I’m saying.”

Danny shrugged and fit a huge handful of popcorn into her mouth. “Well she’s out of her mind.”

“She is not.”

Another huge handful. The popcorn was half gone and Laura hadn’t had one kernel. “I could never ever be with anyone who doesn’t take politics as seriously as I do.”

“Danny, I have something to tell you. I didn’t vote.”

“What?”

“In the last mayoral election, when Rudy Giuliana was running against Ruth Messinger, I went to get a chocolate tasting and forgot to vote.”

“Since when do you go to chocolate tastings?”

“Oh, I suppose you could never be with a woman who goes to chocolate tastings.”

“Forget it, Laura. It’s okay. I forgive you.” Danny took a final heaping handful of popcorn and handed the rest to Laura. There were four sad-looking kernels left.

“You forgive me?” Laura said. Then she stood up and scrambled across everyone in the row to get out of the theater, causing a small commotion. “Oh calm down,” she said to a man who was in an uproar after she had to jump over his lap to finish her escape. “I’m not that tall so you can see most of the screen anyway. Enjoy the movie, jerk.”

Outside, Laura stood in the crisp air to catch her breath. Danny burst out of the door behind her and asked worriedly, “What’s going on?”

It felt like everything hit her at once—the store, her encounter with Carmilla Karnstein, and everything with BlackAsThePit—and Laura struggled not to cry. 

“Look, Laura, this has been a big week. You’re closing the store—“

“It’s not that, Danny, really it’s not. It’s just…”

“I know, that was terrible of me back in there. What gives me the right to jump all over you when I’m the one who’s really… Oh gosh, I don’t know how to say this—“

This conversation was not going in the way Laura had expected it to. “What is it?”

Danny put her hands on Laura’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “You’re a wonderful person, Laura.”

“So are you.”

“And I’m honored that you want to be with me because you would never be with anyone who wasn’t truly worthy of you.”

“I feel exactly the same way about you.”

Danny seemed to be in pain. “Oh, gosh, don’t say that, please, that just makes it worse.”

“What?” Laura shook her head in confusion. “What, you don’t love me or something?”

Danny slowly shook her head. No.

Laura felt like a great weight had been lifted off of her and she laughed. She actually laughed. It was freeing. And she realized: “I don’t love you either.”

Danny looked oddly relieved, then confused, then relieved again. “But we’re so right for each other.”

“I know,” said Laura. She looked up at Danny, at her red hair and kind face, and a thought occurred to her. “That woman on television, right? Betty-Ann?”

Danny’s cheeks turned as red as her hair. “I mean, nothing’s happened. I would never do that to you.”

Laura nodded. She knew. But she also knew: “I think she’s a Republican.”

“I can’t help myself.” Danny had never looked more sheepish and Laura laughed again. She felt so light. It felt like the world was spinning on another axis entirely.

Danny laughed too and asked, “What about you? Is there someone else?”

L2TheLetter threw her hands up in the air and said, “Oh, somewhere out there, I’m sure. Somewhere—in cyberspace.”

___________________________________________________  
To: BlackAsThePit  
From: L2TheLetter  
Re: there is so little to remember of anyone

My store is closing this week. I own a store. Did I ever tell you that? Probably not. It’s a lovely store and in a week, it will be something really depressing, like a Baby Gap. I am being amazingly brave. I am so cheerful I would make Pollyanna throw up. I have promised myself I’m not going to cry.

Soon we'll just be a memory. In fact, someone, some foolish person will probably think it's a tribute to this city, the way it keeps changing on you, the way you can never count on it, or something. I know, because that's the sort of thing I'm always saying. But the truth is, I'm heartbroken. I feel as if part of me has died, and my mother has died all over again, and no one can ever make it right.

___________________________________________________

During the last few hours of the Shop Around the Corner’s life, Laura and her beloved team made final sales and talked with their most loyal customers. Laura walked through the store, a monarch surveying her kingdom one last time, and overheard snippets of conversation. Perry told a customer that she planned to travel, maybe to Spain. Laf handed a little boy a book about biology and told him that they were going back to school to be a scientist. J.P. wrapped up a stack of books for a couple and said that he’d been offered a job at Karnstein Books but—even though it was okay with Laura—he wouldn’t work there if it were the last place on earth.

“This is a tragedy. Karnstein Books can go to hell,” a woman told Laura, as if she was feeling the brunt of the store closing. “Honey, grab a copy of _The Trumpet of the Swan_ ,” she shouted to her husband across a shelf before turning back to Laura. “What are you ever going to do with yourself?

“I… don’t know,” she said. “I’m going to take some time. I have a little money saved. I’m almost looking forward to it.” If she said that enough times, maybe should would believe it.

A kind-looking woman who couldn’t be much older than Laura came over and patted her on the arm. “I came here every Saturday when I was a little girl. I remember when your mother gave me _Anne of Green Gables_. ‘Read it with a box of Kleenex,’ that’s what she told me.”

Now Laura needed a box of Kleenex. She thanked the woman. Another customer, an older man, pointed upwards and told Laura with a wink, “She’s looking down on you right now.”

“I’m sure she is. And it’s not the fault of Karnstein Books. The truth is,” Laura said, starting to realize something, “the world is just… different.”

___________________________________________________

After Perry, Laf, and J.P. left for the last time, Laura lingered in her store, savoring her final moments there. Memories flooded her mind: her mom reading _Madeline_ to her, in French, in the nook by the back window; the first time she read as the Storybook Lady after her mom passed; laughing with J.P. and Perry and Laf about everything and nothing; two little boys with painted faces and a bagged goldfish, and an enchanting dark-haired woman who could have been anybody. 

Laura took down the framed picture of her mother, stuck it in her purse with the front door bell, and locked the door. She read the closing notice on the window one last time before turning away: "After 42 years, we are closing our doors. We have loved being part of your lives." 

For some reason, she felt drawn to Karnstein Books on her walk home. It was inevitable, inescapable gravity pulling her into the store for the first time. She walked up the grand staircase, breathing the air full of that new-book smell, and soon found herself in the children’s department.

It was huge. There was a reading area with large pillows for chairs and other child-size furniture, a small stage, and multitudes of eye-catching displays of the characters she knew so well. A wild rumpus over there. Milo’s tollbooth to her right. A wardrobe up ahead. It was magical. It was heartbreaking. 

Laura sunk into a tiny chair, completely wilted. Next to her was a little girl with glasses who hung backwards over a chair, reading like it was the most natural position in the world. How Laura wished she could trade places with her, to go back to a time when she could simply sit upside down in her favorite chair and read. She closed her eyes and wished.

“Do you have the ‘Shoe’ books?” Laura overheard a woman ask.

“The ‘Shoe’ books? Who’s the author?” a salesperson must have answered.

“I don’t know. My friend told me my daughter has to read the ‘Shoe’ books, so here I am.”

The employee’s silence killed Laura. She couldn’t sit back and let the unknown little girl go through life without reading the ‘Shoe’ books.

“Noel Streatfeild,” she found her voice, turning to join the conversation. “Noel Streatfeild wrote _Ballet Shoes_ and _Skating Shoes_ and _Theater Shoes_ and _Movie Shoes_.” Suddenly she was crying, but continued, “I’d start with _Skating Shoes_ , it’s my favorite, although _Ballet Shoes_ is completely wonderful.”

“Streatfeild,” the salesperson nodded. “How do you spell that?”

“S-T-R-E-A-T-F-E-I-L-D.”

“Thank you,” said the mother as she left with the salesperson to find the books.

Laura smiled shakily and didn’t let any more tears fall until the pair was out of sight. Then they rolled down her cheeks silently as she sat for a few more minutes. And she never noticed that Carmilla, standing frozen just out of sight behind the wardrobe display, had seen everything.

___________________________________________________  
To: L2TheLetter  
From: BlackAsThePit  
Re: Give back your heart to itself

I'm sorry. I don’t know what to say. Truly I don’t. And anything I do say will sound trite. I hope you feel better.

___________________________________________________

Carmilla was still mentally kicking herself for how trite she’d been in her last email to Laura. “I hope you feel better.” What the hell was that? As the cab she was sharing with Ell stopped in front of her building, she started paying attention when Ell mentioned Laura Hollis.

“What I was thinking was she’d probably make a great children’s book author,” Ell said.

“Why would you think that?”

“She knows everything. She has flawless taste. She's famous for it. The salesmen swear by her. If she likes it, it sells. Period.”

Carmilla thought back to what she’d witnessed at Karnstein Books. Laura did know everything about children’s literature. “So you’re going to offer her a job?” she asked Ell.

“Why not? What else has she got to do? Now that she’s destitute, thanks to you.”

“Well, I can’t imagine her working for you.”

“Why not?”

“She has a horrible personality, she’s… nice to everyone all the time. It’s exhausting. And her staff turnover is… non-existent. They've been there forever. Until… recently, when they all found out they were going to lose their jobs.”

“Thanks to you,” Ell reminded her. “Hold elevator!” she cried to the two people stepping inside it.

They made it inside and Ell continued the conversation. “I love how you’ve totally forgotten you had any role in her current situation. It’s so obtuse. It reminds me of someone… Who? Who does it remind me of?” She thought for a moment, then realized, “Me!”

Suddenly, the elevator stopped.

“Shit,” said Ell.

“Shit,” said another passenger, Carmilla’s neighbor Natalie. 

“Is it stuck?” Carmilla asked, pushing the open button. Nothing happened. She turned the key and flicked the emergency switch. Nothing happened. She started hitting the buttons in every possible combination. Nothing happened. 

“I think it’s stuck,” said Wilson, the final passenger. Then he started banging on the door. Carmilla joined him.

“I hope this thing doesn’t plummet to the basement,” Ell said, looking blithely at her nails.

“Can it do that?” Natalie asked, sounding panicked.

“No,” Carmilla assured her. She picked up the phone and pressed a button. “This is Carmilla Karnstein. Who is this? Hi, Juan. We’re stuck on the sixth floor. There are four of us–”

Ell grabbed the phone out of her hand and finished, “—and if you don’t get your ass up here in two shakes and get us out…” She hung up the phone and went back to looking at her nails.

Carmilla turned to Natalie and asked if she was alright. Her neighbor nodded, but mentioned the heat. Carmilla pulled a handkerchief out of her purse and handed it over. 

“Everyone should jump in the air,” Wilson said.

“What?” Ell scoffed.

“We jump. The elevator thinks that no one is here and it opens.”

They all looked at each other for a beat. Why not? Carmilla started counting and they all jumped on three. Nothing happened. 

Ell sighed and sat down to get back to her nails. Time passed in silence or as the victims of the elevator outage made small talk. After a while, it seemed like the heat was getting to Natalie.

“If I ever get out of here, I'm going to start speaking to my mother. She slept with Oscar, and maybe it was Oscar’s fault, I don't know, and then she sold the story to Inside Edition. That could have been Oscar's idea, too. Who knows? But I divorced him. I wonder what she's doing right this minute. I think of her… whenever I hear about a new pill. Ecstasy, Zoloft, Fenphen, I just think, I hope Mama knows about that.” She wiped her face with Carmilla’s handkerchief again. 

“You know Natalie, this sounds like a great book…” Ell began. There was a mercy killing of that moment when banging started outside the elevator. The fire department must have arrived.

Wilson looked deep in thought, oblivious to the banging. “If I ever get out of here…” he started to say.

“If I ever get out of here,” Ell interrupted, “I’m having my eyes lasered.”

Wilson continued without noticing Carmilla’s look of disgust at Ell. “I’m marrying Elsie. I love her. I should marry her. I don’t know what’s stopping me.” He took a picture out of his wallet to proudly show Carmilla.

It was her turn. She looked at Ell, who was fishing through her purse. “If I ever get out of here, I’m going to—“

“Shit, where the hell are my TicTacs?” Ell exploded, cutting off Carmilla’s revelation. Carmilla looked at her. She looked at Carmilla. “What?”

Then the elevator door opened and all Carmilla saw was light, light, light.


	10. in a different place

Carmilla walked onto the dock burdened with a suitcase, Bagheera’s pillow, and the case with her laptop. Bagheera followed along, tail wagging as happily as ever. The pair boarded her sailboat and settled into the berth. Bagheera took up most of the space but Carmilla couldn’t complain—she was still floating, finally free from whatever was keeping her with Ell. She’d given the editor a week to pack her things and move out. In the meantime, all she wanted was the peace and quiet of gentle waves. And maybe the sound of a computer-voice telling her three little words.

She hooked her laptop up to the phone line and started typing.  
___________________________________________________  
To: L2TheLetter  
From: BlackAsThePit  
Re: the stars look very different today

I came home tonight and got into the elevator to go to my apartment. An hour later, I got out of the elevator and Bagheera and I left. Suddenly everything had become clear. It's a long story. Full of the personal details we avoid so carefully…

___________________________________________________  
To: L2TheLetter  
From: BlackAsThePit  
Re: a single leaf which has outlasted its season will be trembling still

I wonder whether change isn't a kind of infection. You start with one thing—something you never ever thought would change and it does and the next thing you know even your bed is in a different place. 

Six months ago, when you and I first met, I knew everything about myself—what I would be doing for the rest of my life and even the person I would be doing it with. Now I know nothing.

___________________________________________________

It was a beautiful spring day. The sun was shining, trees were beginning to sprout leaves, birds were tweeting—it should have been the perfect day to bring two little boys to Riverside Park. But as Carmilla dragged Kirsch and Will through the park, she couldn’t get them to agree to anything but the one thing they wanted to do.

“What about going to the Children’s Zoo?”

Kirsch held his pout. “I don’t want to go to the Children’s Zoo.”

“How about the Staten Island Ferry?”

“I want to go to the Storybook Lady,” he whined. Will echoed.

“Well we can’t go to the Storybook Lady. Look, I’ll read you a story.”

“But where did she go, Carmilla?” Kirsch asked with all the drama of an eight-year-old not getting his way.

Carmilla took a deep breath and broke the news. “She had to close her store.”

“Why?”

“She didn’t have enough business.”

“Why?”

“Her store was very close to our store, and you know our store sells books at a slightly lower cost—“

“Why?”

“Why do we sell at a lower cost? So more people can buy books.”

“Why couldn’t she sell that way too?”

“Because she’s small and we’re big. How about we go get some candy?”

“So now she’s gone and it’s all your fault.”

Will started to sob.

“It’s business, Kirsch. It’s not personal. How about we go get you two so much sugar you’ll be bouncing off the walls all day?”

“What’s p-p-p-personal?” Will asked between sobs.

Before Carmilla could even think of a response, Kirsch took it upon himself to answer. “Personal means that she’s gone forever, and now we’ll never get another book from her as long as we ever live.”

At that, he burst into tears. Will’s sobbing escalated.

Carmilla was not used to dealing with crying. She searched her purse for her handkerchief and then remembered she hadn’t washed it yet from Natalie’s use in the elevator. So this is what she got for helping others. She tried to switch gears again. “Boys, remember the man who worked with her?”

“No,” Kirsch wailed.

“Well I hired him.”

“You killed the Storybook Lady,” he wailed again and threw himself onto the ground to cry harder. Will joined him. Carmilla sat down to rub their backs and wait out the storm. 

___________________________________________________

Later, a group of children sat in a polite circle around J.P. at Karnstein Books, under a banner that read: Storybook Person. A few of the children listened. One or two picked their noses. Will lay on the ground, fast asleep and snoring. And Kirsch sat next to Carmilla, eyes not on J.P. but on his niece, scorching the side of her face with a fierce scowl.

___________________________________________________

Laura sneezed. Again. Her bed was covered in Kleenexes and extra blankets. On the bedside table was every cold medicine she could find in the pharmacy down the block, but nothing helped. With a red nose and watery eyes, she buried herself under the covers again and wished for the days her mom would bring her tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. She sneezed again.

___________________________________________________  
To: L2TheLetter  
From: BlackAsThePit  
Re: the sun is up, the sky is blue, it’s beautiful and so are…

Why haven’t you written?

___________________________________________________  
To: BlackAsThePit  
From: L2TheLetter  
Re: I cannot go to school today said little Peggy Ann McKay

I have a cold.

___________________________________________________  
To: L2TheLetter  
From: BlackAsThePit  
Re: the clouds will be a daisy chain so let me see you smile again

How’s your cold today? Are you feeling any better?

___________________________________________________  
To: BlackAsThePit  
From: L2TheLetter  
Re: both sides now (both sides of my nose)

My ears are blocked, my nose is clogged. I'm lying in bed listening to Joni Mitchell and drinking cranberry juice which I am sorry to say is the exact same color as my nose. I keep thinking about my future. What future? What am I going to do?

___________________________________________________

Down at the dock, a shiny new yacht bobbed next Carmilla’s sailboat. She wasn’t too surprised to see her mother lounging on the deck, champagne flute in hand. For a second she considered letting Bagheera off his leash to greet his grand-dog-mother with sloppy kisses (which she hated and thus gave Carmilla a deep sense of joy). She reconsidered when she saw Lilita pour another glass from the ’69 Dom Perignon. Such an occasion as this meant something was wrong.

She let Bagheera board her boat, then hopped onto the larger boat next door. Lilita raised a glass in her direction: “To us.”

“Mother and daughter, together at last.” Carmilla poured herself a glass too. “What happened with Franz?”

Lilita ignored the question and began to reminisce. “I just bought this yacht. Beautiful, no? I bought a house on the Cape after your father and Laurette, that ballet dancer—“

“—the nanny,” Carmilla corrected.

“Was she the nanny? I forgot that. How ironic. Then there was the ice skater—“

“—also the nanny.”

“Really? How amazingly ironic.”

“Franz ran off with someone?”

“The nanny.”

“Franz ran off with the nanny. That’s incredibly ironic.”

Lilita finished her glass and poured another, the end of the bottle. “Who did you break up with, dear?”

“Ell. You met her. I gave her a week to move out.” Carmilla finished her own glass. 

“Isn’t this great. Of course I have to live out of a suitcase for several weeks. Maybe I’ll go up to the Cape house. Surely someone could drive this boat up there. And then there’s the legal hassle with Franz, more of your inheritance down the drain.”

“Don’t worry about it, Maman.”

“I won’t. But then I get to meet someone new. That’s the easy part.”

“Oh, right,” Carmilla scoffed, “A snap to find the one single person in the world who fills your heart with joy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Have I ever been with anyone who fits that description? Have you?

Carmilla didn’t answer.

___________________________________________________

The following morning, Carmilla Karnstein found herself doing something she never could have dreamed of. She was talking to J.P. He had approached her with an idea about ensuring the proper education of employees in the children’s department, and before she could stop herself she asked how Laura was.

“She’s sick,” he said and got right back to his employee-education system.

“Where does she live?” flew out of Carmilla’s mouth. 

J.P. gave her Laura’s address and Carmilla left before he could finish his speech. She had a mission. Step one: flowers. The clouds will be a daisy chain, indeed.  
___________________________________________________ 

An obnoxious buzz woke Laura from her cold-drug stupor. She crawled out from under a mess of blankets and tissues and tripped past the TV to her front door to press the intercom button.

“Who is it?” she said through her nose.

“Carmilla Karnstein.”

Her blocked-up ears must have heard incorrectly. Maybe the Home Shopping Network that was still blaring on the TV was selling caramel ice cream. But why would they sell ice cream on TV? Did they deliver?

The intercom buzzed again. “Laura?” said the voice of her nemesis.

“What are you doing here?” Laura squeaked.

“May I please come up?”

She looked down in horror at the pajamas she’d been wearing for the last three days. They were _Alice in Wonderland_ themed. Laura wondered if she’d fallen down a rabbit hole, too.

“It’s really not a good idea,” she told Carmilla through the speaker. “I have a terrible cold, can you hear it? I’m sniffling and not really awake and I’m sleeping practically twenty-four hours a day, and taking echinacea and vitamin C, so I would really appreciate it if you would come some other time—“

A knock on the door next to her made Laura jump. She really didn’t like rabbit holes. Mustering up all her courage, she looked through the peephole. There was Carmilla.

“Laura?” She sounded concerned. 

Laura jumped again and yelled through the door to wait a minute. In a flash she put on a robe, picked up all the used Kleenexes in sight, and stuffed them into her pockets. Then she opened the door.

Carmilla was smiling softly and holding a bouquet of daises. “Hello,” she said.

“What are you doing here?” Laura asked dumbly.

“I heard you were sick and I was worried and I wanted to…” she trailed off and looked past Laura. “Is someone here?”

“Just the Home Shopping Network.”

“Bought any porcelain dolls?”

“I was thinking about it,” Laura said. She looked at Carmilla, at her annoyingly pretty face, at the bunch of daises in her hands. And all she could think to say was: “You put me out of business.”

Carmilla sighed, “I know that.”

“And now you turn up with flowers? Did you come to gloat?”

“No.”

“To offer me a job at your monstrous superstore?”

“No, I wouldn’t think of—“

“—Because I have plans,” Laura jumped in. “I have lots of offers. I’ve been offered a job by, well, actually by—“

“My former?” Carmilla finished.

“Former?”

“We broke up.”

“That's too bad. You seemed so perfect for each other.” Laura realized what she had said and clapped her hand over her mouth. Maybe if she just spoke through the tiny cracks in her fingers, only nice things would be let through. “I don't mean to say things like that. No matter what you have done to me, there is no excuse for my saying anything like that. But every time I see you—"

Carmilla smiled again, a smile that was growing on Laura. “Every time you see me, things like that just seem to fly out of your mouth.”

“Yes,” Laura said, shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I’m starting over. Thank you for coming. Goodbye.”

She took a step towards Carmilla but the other woman didn’t move. A Kleenex fell out of her pocket. She tried again. “Thank you for coming. Goodbye.”

Carmilla bent to pick up the Kleenex. When she straightened, she held out the bouquet. “I brought you flowers.”

“Oh. Thank you.” She took them from Carmilla, only to be surprised when Carmilla took them back.

“Why don’t I put them in some water?” the dark-haired woman suggested as she threw the Kleenex in a trash can. Laura sniffled. Carmilla gave her a funny look, then pulled a clean handkerchief out of her purse and handed it over. Then she turned the corner for the kitchen. Laura’s feet were glued to the floor as she looked at the handkerchief—the initials CK and a tiny bunch of blue forget-me-nots embroidered at the corner. She heard the water run and snapped out of her shock. 

In the kitchen, Carmilla was just finishing washing her hands and filling the kettle with water. She turned on the stove and turned to face Laura. “You’re sick,” she said and pulled out a chair. “Sit down, please.”

Laura sat. 

“Vase?” Carmilla asked.

“Upper left.”

Carmilla opened the cabinet, chose a vase, and filled it with water. She seemed to be searching for something to say. It came to her: “J.P. says hello. He told me you weren’t feeling well.”

“How is J.P.?”

“Great, really great. He's revolutionizing the place. No one is allowed to work in his department who doesn't have a Ph.D. in children's literature.”

Carmilla unwrapped the daises and arranged them carefully in the vase. She set them on the table in front of Laura and smiled at her.

Laura couldn’t stop herself from smiling too, as she played with the petals. “I love daisies.”

“You told me.”

“They're so friendly. Don't you think that daisies are the friendliest flower?”

“I do.”

The kettle whistled and broke the comfortable silence that had settled. Carmilla turned to take care of it and began searching the cabinets.

“When did you and the book editor break up?”

“Oh, a week or so ago.”

“Everyone is breaking up. You. Me. This other person I know broke up with someone in an elevator. I think it was in an elevator. Or just outside it. Or after it. It got stuck. I think. And suddenly everything became clear. When I saw you, at the café, I was waiting for her and I was—“

“—charming.”

“I was not charming.”

“Well, you looked charming.”

Laura blamed her heated cheeks on the fever she must have. She didn’t notice Carmilla pause her cabinet-searching as she found six different kinds of hot cocoa.

“Tea? Or hot cocoa for you?” 

That darn fever, again. Laura asked for hot cocoa. Carmilla found two mugs, a teabag, and packet of hot cocoa. She poured the hot water and asked, “Honey?”

Now Laura knew the cold was really getting to her ears. Why would Carmilla call her honey? Why did that sound so nice? Then she remembered that Carmilla was making tea. She pointed to the pantry and buried her face in her hands when Carmilla turned away.

Maybe if she returned to the conversation, Carmilla wouldn’t notice how weird she felt. “At the café, I was upset. And I was horrible.”

The dark-haired woman set down the two mugs and took a seat. “No, I was horrible,” she said.

“True,” Laura replied. “But I have no excuse.”

“Whereas I am a horrible person and have no choice but to be horrible, is that what you're saying?” Carmilla asked with a rueful smile and sipped her tea.

“No I am not saying that because I am done saying horrible things, even to you.”

“You did it again.”

Laura almost spit out her hot cocoa. She had done it again. She groaned.

“I put you out of business. You’re entitled to hate me,” Carmilla said. 

“I don’t hate you—“

“But you’ll never forgive me. Like Elizabeth.”

Laura was lost. “Who?”

“Elizabeth Bennet. In _Pride and Prejudice_ –“

“I thought you hated _Pride and Prejudice_.”

“—or was she too prejudiced and Mr. Darcy too proud? I can never remember.” Carmilla took another sip of her tea and met Laura’s wide eyes. “It wasn’t personal—”

“It was business,” Laura finished for her. “What is that supposed to mean? I am so sick of that. All it means is it's not personal to you, but it's personal to me, it's personal to a lot of people. What's wrong with personal anyway?”

“Nothing.”

“I mean, whatever else anything is, it ought to begin by being personal.” Laura finished her hot cocoa and picked up the vase of daisies. Carmilla's handkerchief was still bunched up in her hand. “My head’s starting to get funny. I have go back to bed.”

Her guest took the two mugs and gave them a rinse before putting them in the dishwasher. She did the same with the rest of the dishes in the sink. Laura stood, her heart getting funny like her head. 

In her bedroom, Laura put the daisies on the bedside table and huddled under all her blankets. She sneezed a huge sneeze and wiped her nose with Carmilla's handkerchief, which must have sent off a homing beacon to its owner. She appeared in the doorway of Laura’s bedroom, dark and shy. 

“Can I get you anything else? Some tomato soup? A grilled cheese?” Carmilla offered. 

Suddenly Laura wanted to cry. She pulled herself together and asked, “Why did you stop by?”

Carmilla stepped just inside the bedroom, but was slow to answer. “I wanted to be your friend.”

“Oh.”

“I knew it wasn't possible. What can I say? Sometimes a person just wants the impossible. Could I ask you something?”

“What?”

“What happened with that girl at the café?”

“Nothing.” Laura hoped she didn’t sound as miserable she felt.

“But you’re crazy about her.”

“Yes. I am.”

“Then why don’t you run off with her? What are you waiting for?”

Laura thought long about how to answer that. Honesty was always the best policy, right? “I don’t actually know her.”

“Really.” 

Laura couldn’t read what Carmilla’s response meant. So she continued, “We only know each other—you’re not going to believe this—“

“—let me guess. From the Internet.”

Laura’s voice was small. “Yes.”

“You’ve got mail.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Yes.”

“Very powerful words.”

“Yes.”

Suddenly Carmilla was sitting on the edge of her bed. The closeness made Laura woozy all over again. 

“I’m happy for her,” Carmilla said. “Although, could I make a little suggestion? I think you should meet her. No, wait, I take it back. Why meet her?”

And just like that, Laura found herself speaking without thinking again. “I hardly think I need advice from someone who—“

Then there was a warm and gentle hand clapped over her mouth. This time it wasn’t her own. Carmilla held her hand there, and it was tender and it was sexy and Laura couldn’t think.

“I concede I bring out the worst in you, but let me help you not to say something you'll just torture yourself about for years to come.” Carmilla smiled and pulled her hand back. Laura couldn’t speak. Carmilla did again: “I hope you’re better soon. It would be a shame to miss New York in the spring.” She stood and started for the door.

“Thank you for the daisies,” Laura tried to call out, but it came as a whisper.

Carmilla met her eyes and said, “Take care. Goodbye.”

___________________________________________________  
To: BlackAsThePit  
From: L2TheLetter  
Re: We have so much time and so little to do. Strike that, reverse it.

I have been thinking about this and I think we should meet.


	11. when you come around the curve

“Once upon a time there was a little girl named–“

Laura was writing a book. She was writing a children’s book. The day after Carmilla’s visit, her ears and nose had cleared and she had thrown open her windows to welcome spring. On that bright spring day, one thing became clear: she had to write. A click of the mouse on Microsoft Word, another click to “Book Format,” and suddenly the words poured from her.

She read the opening line again and again until her eyes wandered over to the friendly-looking vase of daisies on her bedside table. A few keystrokes and there it was:

“Once up a time there was a little girl named Daisy.”  
___________________________________________________  
To: L2TheLetter  
From: BlackAsThePit  
Re: failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged

We should meet. And we will meet. But I'm in the middle of a project that needs… tweaking.

___________________________________________________ 

Laura was starting to feel like her old self. She didn’t have a job per se, but as she walked the same route that she had every morning for the last three years, she had a plan. Of course, all great plans must start with hot cocoa. 

She opened the door of her usual Starbucks and sighed at the familiar air of coffee and busy New Yorkers on their way to their Very Important Days. She ordered a grande hot cocoa and then sat at a counter in the window. It was the perfect place to people-watch. It was the perfect place to see… Carmilla?

Outside, the woman who wanted to be her friend waved shyly, a book tucked under one arm. Laura wondered what the book was. She waved back. Carmilla must have taken that as a sign because the next thing Laura knew, Carmilla was sitting down next to her to deliver her hot cocoa.

“I see you’re feeling better,” Carmilla smiled.

“I am,” nodded Laura. “I’m even writing! I just couldn’t miss any more of this almost-spring. Especially not when–“

“–when?”

Laura marveled for a second at how comfortable she felt spilling her guts to Carmilla. She cleared her throat and shared her news: “Especially not when the girl from the café agreed to meet me, again.”

Carmilla raised her eyebrows, “Well, well, well. I knew she’d come around. How could anyone pass up the chance to meet you?”

Laura started to open her mouth to protest, then realized with a shock that Carmilla was sincere in her praise. “Thank you,” she said with a blush. “She said that we will meet, but that she’s in the middle of a project that needs tweaking.”

“Tweaking?” Carmilla asked with narrowed eyes.

“That’s what she said.”

“She’s probably married,” Carmilla said bluntly. Laura should have known the civility was too good to be true.

“That’s a terrible thing to say! I mean, it’s just not possible.”

“Have you asked her if she’s married?” Carmilla prodded. “Have you said, ‘Are you married?’”

Laura stewed in a silence for a moment. She looked at the ground, at the book Carmilla had set on the counter–Whitman’s _Leaves of Grass_. Finally she met Carmilla’s soft dark eyes. “No.”

Carmilla gave her a look and shrugged.  
___________________________________________________  
To: BlackAsThePit  
From: L2TheLetter  
Re: when you are Real you don’t mind being hurt

I know this probably little late to be asking, but are you married?

___________________________________________________  
To: L2TheLetter  
From: BlackAsThePit  
Re: missing me one place search another

Am I married? What kind of a question is that? How can you ask me that? Don’t you know me at all? Oh wait, I get it. Your friends are telling you the reason we haven't met is that I'm married. Am I right?  
___________________________________________________

“So she didn’t exactly answer,” Carmilla said as she gracelessly stuffed a nacho into her mouth. 

Laura huffed and grabbed back the paper plate of nachos they’d been sharing. The two had bumped into each other at the farmer’s market. “She did too,” Laura said around a mouthful of cheese. “She nailed me. She knew exactly what I was up to, which is just like her.”

Carmilla took the nachos back and ate the last one. “But she didn’t exactly answer, did she?”

“No.”

“Maybe she’s ugly.”

“I don’t care about that,” Laura scoffed.

“Let me guess, as a virtuous and principled expert in children’s literature, _The Velveteen Rabbit_ has always stuck with you and thus you deeply believe, ‘Once you are Real you can’t be ugly—‘“

“‘—except to people who don’t understand,’” Laura finished for her once-enemy-who-was-maybe-now-a-friend. She blushed at Carmilla’s slow smile.

“Why else do you think she’s putting off meeting you? Although, maybe that’s not it. Maybe…”

“What?” Laura asked in alarm. They stopped at a vegetable booth and Laura had never cared less about eating leafy greens.

“Never mind,” Carmilla shrugged and began looking very intently at a bunch of asparagus.

“What?” Laura demanded.

Carmilla’s eyes shifted from the asparagus to meet Laura’s. She paused for dramatic effect, not caring that Laura was dying. “She could be waiting until she’s paroled.”

Before she could stop herself, Laura relayed the story of J.P. and Laf thinking she had just been spared from dating the rooftop killer. “—which is completely ridiculous of course, because how could she still be emailing me from jail? I mean if they only give you one phone call, wouldn’t emails be similarly limited? But then her last email wouldn’t make any sense—how could jail be a project that needs ‘tweaking’?”

Carmilla laughed. She actually laughed at Laura’s rant. Then she bought the bunch of asparagus and kept walking. Laura chased after her.

“What’s her handle?” Carmilla asked. The look of horror in Laura’s eyes made her continue. “Come on, I’m not going to write her.”

“BlackAsThePit,” Laura mumbled.

“BlackAsThePit,” mused Carmilla. “Black as the pit. Very interesting. Her soul is black as the pit. Her hair is black as the pit. She’s blind and everything is black as the pit.” She kept going through Laura’s giggles. “Let me guess, she has a cat named Bagheera.”

“A dog, actually.”

Carmilla barked a laugh, “Who names their dog after a panther?”

“I guess she really likes Kipling?” Laura offered.

“That’s the first good thing I’ve heard about her.”

The pair continued meandering through the market, buying bits of food here and there. Between all of their purchases, they could have made a meal. Separately though, they would each be lacking. 

Laura rearranged her purchases–a loaf of bread, pork chops, and artisan chocolate—and brought the conversation back to BlackAsThePit. “The only thing I really care about besides the married thing… and the jail thing… is the boat thing.”

“The boat thing?” Carmilla looked truly confused.

“Yes, I could never be with anyone who has a boat.”

Carmilla’s reply was quiet. “Oh. I have a boat.”

“So that clinches it. We’ll never be together,” Laura said. For some reason, she couldn’t meet Carmilla’s eyes when she said it.

The other woman cleared her throat. “I could never be with anyone who likes Joni Mitchell.” She sang softly, “‘It’s cloud’s illusions I recall, I really don’t know clouds at all.’ What does that mean, anyway?”

She looked like she was waiting for Laura to admit she loved Joni Mitchell and to explain in a passionate rant just exactly what ‘Both Sides Now’ meant–which she could have easily done. But all Laura could think to say was: “You have a nice voice.”

As Carmilla turned away to examine some apples, Laura could have sworn she was blushing. Finally, their shopping done, the two headed back uptown. On the way, Carmilla asked how Laura’s book was coming.

“There's a children's book editor I know,” Laura began, “from the store, and she's excited to read it. When I finish it. Who would ever have thought I'd write? I mean, if I didn't have all this free time, I would never have discovered… The truth is, she was the one who made me start thinking about writing.“

“Ms. Let’s Quote an Imperialist Prig.”

“Hey, there are different takes on Kipling. And he certainly has his moments. I mean, _Plain Tales from the Hills_ …”

“‘A woman’s guess is much more accurate than a man’s certainty,’” Carmilla quoted. “Can’t compete with that.”

Laura was surprised. From the beginning she had assumed that Carmilla was solely a business-minded robot who cared little for books—but the girl could quote literature like no one else. Or, maybe like someone else Laura knew. 

The fuzzy thought passed from her head as quickly as it had come. “Well, I keep bumping into you. Hope you enjoy your asparagus.”

Carmilla smiled and Laura’s knees were suddenly jelly. “I will, thank you. Say, want to bump into me Saturday? Around lunchtime?”

___________________________________________________  
To: L2TheLetter  
From: BlackAsThePit  
Re: I stop somewhere waiting for you

How about meeting Saturday? The first day of spring. 4 P.M. There's a place in Riverside Park at 88th Street where the path curves and when you come around the curve, you'll find me waiting.


	12. you'll find me waiting

It was here—the first day of spring. Laura and Carmilla bumped into each other around lunchtime at the hot dog stand by Karnstein Books. While Carmilla waited to buy them each a kosher dog, Laura looked up at the shiny bookstore. And for the first time, she wasn’t angry or bitter or hurt. She saw the books inside and felt that light spark of happiness that had floated through her each time she opened the Shop Around the Corner. 

Carmilla appeared at her elbow with two hot dogs smothered in mustard, absently humming ‘Both Sides Now.’ Laura smiled, full and bright; she thought back to the first time she had heard the song, on a spring afternoon when her mom had played the record in the store. It was just the two of them, and Sherry had held Laura’s hands and told her: “Listen carefully, baby. ‘Well something’s lost, but something’s gained in living every day.’”

Carmilla smiled back and offered Laura a hot dog. “So today’s the day?”

“Yes, today.”

“Whoa,” she said, taking a huge, messy bite of her dog. 

Laura did the same and giggled. “I know. We’re meeting in Riverside Park.”

Carmilla’s look was hard to read. “Isn’t that amazing? Maybe I’ve seen her, or you have, and we don’t even know it.”

The thought was exhilarating. The pair started walking around the neighborhood, eating their messy hot dogs without shame. Laura marveled at how far they’d come—from bitter rivals, to polite acquaintances, and now friends who could see each other with mustard on their lip and not care.

“She could be the Zipper Girl,” Carmilla said.

“Who’s that?”

“This girl on Amsterdam who repairs zippers. You’ll never have to buy new luggage,” she said, mock seriously, and Laura laughed. “Or,” Carmilla went on, “my dry cleaner. She’s magic, you know. Got a very stubborn coffee stain out of my coat once.”

Laura gave her a little bump as they walked side-by-side. “Stop teasing, Carmilla.”

“Timing is everything. She waited until you were primed. Until you knew there was no other woman you could ever love. ‘I stop somewhere waiting for you,’ and all that.”

That made Laura stop in her tracks. She met Carmilla’s eyes and was struck by the intensity in the returned look. “I, um, yes. Yes, I guess so.” She gulped.

Carmilla’s dark eyes were searching hers. “Sometimes,” she began, voice soft, scared. “Sometimes I wonder, Laura…”

“What?” 

“If I hadn’t been Karnstein Books and you hadn’t been the Shop Around the Corner and we’d just met…”

“Don’t,” Laura pleaded, tears burning in her eyes.

“I would have asked for your phone number,” Carmilla said; her voice wasn’t shaking anymore. “And I wouldn’t have been able to wait 24 hours before calling and asking, ‘How about coffee, drinks, dinner, a movie… for as long as we both shall live?’”

Laura’s heart stopped. She could barely whisper, “Carm…”

“And then we would never have been at war.”

“No.”

“The only fight we’d ever have is what video to rent on Saturday night.”

Laura half sobbed, half laughed, “Who fights about that?”

Carmilla’s smile was beautiful and devastating. “Some people. Not us.”

“We would never.”

With another intense gaze, Carmilla gently said, “If only.”

Laura’s head was spinning and her heart was… “Please, Carmilla. I have to go.”

Neither of them moved. 

“Let me ask you something?” Carmilla began. “How come you’ll forgive her for standing you up and you won’t forgive me for a tiny little thing like putting you out of business?”

Laura just shook her head, feeling so lost. 

“Oh how I wish you would.”

And Laura’s heart broke. Carmilla stepped closer with a tender look and it took everything within Laura not to forgive her and kiss… 

“I really do have to go,” Laura found herself saying.

Carmilla nodded, looking like she was in pain. “You don’t want to be late.” She gave Laura one last smile, then turned and walked away.  
___________________________________________________

Laura checked her hair in the mirror for the eighth time. It was 3:41. In four minutes, she would head out the door and walk to meet BlackAsThePit at Riverside Park. Laura smoothed out her blue sundress for the fifth time and went to find her purse. It was by the vase of daisies (which were looking sad but Laura couldn’t bear to throw them away yet). She picked it up and knocked something white off the table.

She bent to pick it up—a handkerchief, embroidered with CK and tiny blue forget-me-nots. With a smile, she put it in her purse and walked out the door.  
___________________________________________________

Carmilla shrugged on her leather jacket and went to find Bagheera’s leash. It was 3:41. In four minutes, she would head out the door and walk to meet L2TheLetter in Riverside Park. Her hand shook as she clipped the leash on Bagheera’s collar. The black lab licked her hand and smiled his doggy smile up at her. 

How had it come to this? One day L2TheLetter was an unknown girl that Carmilla was slowly falling for, and the next she was Laura Hollis, a bitter business rival. She was rude and infuriating and… enchanting. As Carmilla had gotten to know her, to understand her, one thing became clear: Carmilla had to choose. To annoy Laura, or not, to love her, or not. So, she had made her choice. It was terrifying.

What was Laura going to think? Had Carmilla given her enough clues? What if it all went horribly wrong and Carmilla lost everything? She couldn’t bear to. 

Bagheera barked, pulling Carmilla from her thoughts. 3:45. Time to go.  
___________________________________________________

In Riverside Park, near 88th Street, Laura stopped at a curve in the path. A young woman in athletic clothes ran by, checking her watch. A couple walked slowly past, the man pushing a stroller with a babbling baby inside. Birds tweeted, a squirrel poked along, and Laura looked all around.

Then she heard a dog barking. A huge black lab barreled around the corner, followed by a voice calling out, “Bagheera! Bagheera!”

And then Carmilla walked around the corner. She stopped, and met Laura’s gaze across the grass. 

Tears flooded Laura’s eyes as Carmilla started walking towards her. The black lab jumped all around her, but she kept walking, straight to Laura.

When she was within arm’s distance, Carmilla stopped. Laura saw a blush on her cheeks and a shy smile spread across her beautiful, beautiful face. And Laura started to cry. 

All of sudden, Laura was in the dark-haired girl’s arms and Carmilla was saying, “Don’t cry, L2TheLetter, don’t cry.”

Laura pulled back enough to find Carmilla’s dark, loving eyes. She reached into her purse and pulled out the handkerchief. Carmilla took it from her and gently wiped Laura’s teary cheeks. 

“I wanted it to be you, Carm. I wanted it to be you so badly,” Laura said through a sob.

Carmilla pulled Laura closer again and breathed, “I know, I know.”

And then they kissed and the world spun like it never had before.  
___________________________________________________

Carmilla walked with one hand holding tightly to Bagheera’s leash and the other holding tightly to Laura’s hand. Laura kept sneaking looks at her and Carmilla grinned. 

“So, L2TheLetter, it’s an enchanting day. What would you like to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know, BlackAsThePit. Anything,” Laura giggled.

“How about… Dinner, or drinks, or a movie?”

Laura’s blush was absolutely charming. “Anything.”

Carmilla raised an eyebrow. “Anything, huh? Well that settles it, we’re going to see my boat.”

She dragged Laura along after her and Laura’s laugh was the best sound she’d ever heard. Except for those three little words: you’ve got mail.


End file.
